


Time After Time

by beezyland



Series: Time After Time: Romanogers AUs [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU oneshot collection, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Amusement Park, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blind Date, Brooklyn Nine-Nine AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rating May Change, Skinny Steve, The Sandlot AU, backpacking through Europe AU, disneyland au, drinking and recreational drug use because college, figure skating AU, gamers au, my friends are drunk and I'm sorry you have to make us sandwiches and I think you're cute au, shameless Grease 2 references, sort of, supermodels AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beezyland/pseuds/beezyland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of AU oneshots I'd like to turn into full-length stories, but never will. </p><p>Recent: Gamers AU. Steve has been playing Avengers Initiative online with Black_Widovv for years and impulsively decides it's time to meet. He tries to temper his expectations and hopes she does the same. People in real life are never as hot as the character they create for themselves, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Band AU: the Rock Goddess & the Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor art student slash babysitter Steve Rogers reluctantly attends a rock concert and his world turns upside down once he sees the headliner, rock goddess, Natasha Romanoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always open to hearing your AU ideas over at my [home inside my home,](http://beezyland.tumblr.com/ask) but I can't promise I'll write 'em!

There isn’t much Steve wouldn’t do for a friend, especially if that friend is Bucky. So when Bucky _finally_ gets a date with _that knockout from that time at Coney Island_ (his exact words), but already promised to look after his little sister, Steve agrees to cover. And when Rebecca, crafty at twelve-year-old, threatens to rat on them if someone doesn’t take her to see her favorite band play a show, Brooklyn’s very own casanova nearly drops to his knees and begs his best friend for this one favor. This one, huge and surely taxing favor.

And that’s how Steve ends up in a tiny, dingy venue shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers and an excited pint-size Rebecca in front of him, eyes solely on the small stage directly in front of them. The show hasn’t even started and it feels like a million degrees with all the body heat. Steve’s starting to regret wearing his old jean jacket, but they rode the train here so it’s not like he can run to put it in the car and Rebecca would probably kill him if they lost their spot, which she deems _the best spot ever_.

Rock has never been Steve’s thing. Looking around, he doesn’t much feel like he fits in with this crowd, but Rebecca’s awestruck and he reminds himself this is all for her. And Bucky, who he’s certain he’s gonna punch in the gut when he sees him later tonight. It’s supposedly an all-ages show, but the floor is slick with what he thinks is liquor, what he _hopes_ is liquor and not other foreign fluids. As the roadies prepare the stage for the main attraction, Rebecca feels the need to fill Steve in on the band.

“Natasha is the lead singer! And—and she plays guitar and her stage name is the Black Widow! Because she eats men alive with her lyrics! Gamora is the drummer and she’s awesome! Maria plays bass. She kind of scares me. Wanda’s on keyboard—she’s my fave—and Laura is the violinist. I think she’s dating Clint, who used to be the drummer, but they kicked him out so they could reach their full potential of being the greatest all-girl band in the history of rock and roll!”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice,” Steve responds distractedly.

The crowd is antsy with anticipation when the overhead lights finally dim and fog floods the stage. Hourglass silhouettes take their places amongst the instruments. With one powerful strum of a guitar, blinding white lights illuminates the stage and _whoa_. Steve feels like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. The audience cheers and starts to move as music fills the room.

They’re all so beautiful. Goddesses, celestial beings, warrior women wielding their musical weapons of choice with utmost confidence. Steve swears he feels the combination of instrumental sounds deep in his bones. He’s completely still, unsure if he’s breathing, while the sea of people dance and jump all around him. They’re all so beautiful, but his eyes keep going back to the singer. She’s wrapped in tight leather and wearing boots that look like it’d hurt if she stepped on him, but he also wouldn’t mind if it’s her doing the stepping and where did that thought even come from? Her hair is red as fire, only further emphasized by the intense stage lighting and her eyes are outlined in bold, black lines. When she gives the crowd a sharp smile and a wink, they go wild. She has them (and him) in the palm of her hand. When her lips part and she starts to sing, Steve swallows hard.

He’s done for.

Carefully leaning down toward Rebecca, who knows every word and sings along, Steve asks, “Who’s that?” She either doesn’t hear him or ignores him. When he shakes her arm, Rebecca glares at him like _how dare you intrude on this moment I’m having with the music!_ But Steve _needs_ to know so he asks again. “Who’s the redhead?”

“Natasha!” she shouts back. “Weren’t you listening? The Black Widow!”

Natasha. Of course. The name suits her. _Natasha_.

As the concert continues, all thought of wanting to leave evaporates. The music is awesome and the band banters between songs and interacts with the crowd. Their chemistry is amazing. _They_ are amazing. The drumbeat synchs with the thumps of his heart and the violin tugs at his soul, but he only has eyes for the lead singer. _Natasha_. He swears she looks right at him a few times and his cheek burn as he scolds himself for how pathetic that thought is.

Toward the end of the set, things start to slow down and the combination of pink and blue stage lights fall across Natasha’s hair and pale skin, making her look otherworldly. She sings this stripped down acoustic song about being frustratingly stuck and Steve _feels_ the emotion in it, how she means every word. The crowd roars, the loudest they’ve been all night and the smile she gives them is coy, which doesn’t quite fit with the rest of what he’s seen of her tonight. Steve thinks their eyes meet yet again and he wonders if she sees the _I wish I knew you_ surely in his eyes.

The mood picks back up and the energy in the room steadily grows until the band thanks them and walks off the stage. Steve feel dread heavy in his stomach at the thought of it being over and the rest of the crowd seems to agree with how they start demanding an encore. The band returns soon after and plays one last song that has everyone dancing, moshing, knocking into each other from all sides. The only time Steve looks away from the stage is to make sure Rebecca isn’t being trampled or grinded on by some pervert as every good babysitter should.

Then it’s over.

The band disappears backstage and the lights returns to normal and the sense of loss hits him harder than expected. As the crowd starts to disperse, most heading toward the exit or the bar, Steve remains still until Rebecca crashes into him, smiling, eyes bright, forehead covered in sweat. It’s after 10, almost time to meet Bucky. They’re sure to stop by the merch table so Rebecca can get a band tee and Steve can buy a CD. If Rebecca grins knowingly at him, Steve can’t say because he’s totally avoiding her. Whatever. He makes a comment about supporting local artists and Rebecca glosses over it, holds up a silver Sharpie and asks if they can hang out outside the venue to see if they can catch the band leaving. His heart thumps hard at the thought of meeting _her_ , but ultimately, he puts his babysitter foot down. Her parents are supposed to get back by midnight and they still have to meet Bucky.

Rebecca’s a little disappointed, but also mature enough to realize she’s lucky she even got to see the show at all so she doesn’t whine too much as they take the train back to Brooklyn. They wait for Bucky at a diner they visit pretty regularly. Rebecca orders a grilled cheese and Steve orders coffee and they chat about the concert to kill time. He tries to learn what he can about the band without sounding too eager or you know, _in love_ , but Rebecca keeps giving him a vicious smile that reminds him of Bucky and might mean his effort is pointless. By the time Bucky walks in through the door with a smug smile and lipstick smudged on his rumpled shirt collar, Rebecca is asleep on her side of the booth, wearing her new band tee and wrapped up in Steve’s jean jacket.

Bucky thanks him over and over and Steve is undoubtedly going to milk it for all it’s worth, but tonight was better than he ever could have imagined. Bucky offers him a ride, but Steve turns him down. He wants the night to last as long as possible and a walk sounds nice. His place is only a few blocks down anyway. Plus, the really nice waitress just refilled his coffee and it’s piping hot and he knows better than to let food (or drinks) go to waste.

“Suit yourself.” Bucky clasps Steve’s shoulder before lifting his sister into his arms, jean jacket and all. “Thanks again, punk. I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do, jerk,” Steve agrees with a grin.

Once his friends leave, Steve leans back in the booth, takes another sip of coffee and burns his tongue on said coffee. He drags the CD closer and opens the case. It’s extremely minimal as in just an all black disk, no album name, not even a band name. Steve spots Rebecca’s silver Sharpie she carried around all night and brings it into his hand. As he thinks over his night, the concert, _her,_ he lets his hand move and slips into that headspace he does when he’s drawing, painting, creating. He can spend hours like this, oblivious to the world around him.

“Well, aren’t you artsy.”

Steve looks up and finds a dark-haired girl smiling down at him. She looks vaguely familiar, especially when she fixes her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “I’m just gonna…” She snatches the CD away and before Steve even thinks to protest, she’s dancing toward a rowdy group in the back. They’re all leather jackets and loud laughter and one guy even twirls a drumstick between his fingers.

"Hey, guys, look what I pilfered from that human golden retriever over there!”

"Darcy," a female voice scolds, but quickly turns into a, “ooooh! Let me see!"

“Well, well, well, someone thinks he's a Sharpie Picasso."

"Nat, look! It's you."

Steve goes to duck his head embarrassedly, especially when all the heads start to turn to look at him, but aborts the action when he sees who's at the center of the group. _Natasha_. Her hair is swept back, pulled up and her eyeliner is a little smudged, but it just makes her look prettier, more human maybe. She's no longer in leather from head to toe, but wearing a hoodie. She's just as alluring and looking right at him. Now Steve really stares down at the table, contemplating just walking out. Losing a CD is a small price to pay in order to save him from a restraining order.

Just as he's about to chug his coffee and run, Natasha slides onto the booth bench across from him. This close, he sees that little beauty mark on her cheek and her eyes are green. She's even more intimidatingly beautiful up close. Her plush pink lips tug to one side as she holds up the open CD case and the black disk inside with a doodle of her in silver. Half of him wants to shrink away in shame while the other wants to snap it away so he can add that little beauty mark and the strands of hair falling to frame her face.

"So, are you a wannabe groupie or dangerous stalker?"

He startles at the sound of her voice, smoky and sexy. Then her words register. He gapes at her. "Uh, I'm pretty sure I was here first and I've never even heard of your band before tonight!"

Smooth.

"Well, that's flattering," she says sarcastically, making herself comfortable on her side of the booth. "So are you like an illustrator or something?"

“I, uh, want to be. Eventually. I'm still in school, art major."

She nods her head as he talks and traces over his drawing of her with the tip of her finger. He can't help, but follow the movement with his eyes. "Ever do album art?"

“I—uh—” Steve runs his fingers through his hair to hide the way his hands are trembling. "Can't say I have."

"Do you want to?"

"Really?"

She laughs amusedly and even that sounds beautiful. When Natasha looks over her shoulder, he follows her gaze. "The redhead in the pantsuit pacing and shouting into her phone? That's our manager, Pepper. Her boyfriend is an idiot and probably screwed something up _again_. She wanted me to ask if you'd be interested. Well, technically, she said, ‘Natasha, bag him. For cheap.’” He feels warm, flattered himself. "But now I'm not so sure. After all, you've never even heard of us before tonight."

Steve smiles shyly. "Consider me newly converted." He straightens in his seat and leans over the table toward her. "See, I was babysitting—”

She laughs loudly. “Wait.” And holds up three fingers. "College boy, art major, babysitter?"

"You forgot fan. Of yours, I mean," he adds. "And, yeah, I'd like to work with you. And the band." Steve just notices all her bandmates and a few others all watching them like they're reality television at its finest. He hides his nerves with a smile and a wave. When the girls giggle and the guys laugh, Steve stares down at the table, wondering if maybe they're just messing with him. Teach the stalker creep a lesson by making a fool outta him. Damn, he's going to have to find a new diner.

As if sensing his doubt and apprehension, Natasha shifts, blocking his view of her friends and leans a little closer to him, making it so she's all he sees and Steve isn't about to complain.

"Ignore them. They're idiots." Natasha gives him an inviting smile and the tension eases from his shoulders. "So you were babysitting, somehow ended up at our show and had a religious experience?"

His ma would call that blasphemy, but his ma would probably knock him for bringing a child to a rock concert too.

“The way I felt at your show…can’t say I’ve ever felt that way in any church, ma’am," Steve says. Natasha looks away and smiles and his heart swells until his chest aches. "I really liked that one song you did. I mean, all your stuff is really great, but that acoustic song, wow. It's like..." He pauses to try to straighten out his thoughts before he ruins it and she looks genuinely eager to hear what he says. "Like, being frozen? Feeling out of place and out of time and wanting to move forward, but frustrated because _how_? I thought I was the only one who felt like that."

"воз и ныне там," she says in what he thinks might be her native tongue. "It's an old Russian idiom of sorts. We don't really name any of our songs or our band for that matter, but yeah. I'm pretty proud of that one. Thanks."

"It's beautiful," Steve says. And thinks, _just like you_.

She smiles to herself and stares down at the table between them and his coffee that's cooled. “You know, if we're going to work together, I should probably know your name..."

"Oh!" Steve nearly shouts. "Steve. Steve Rogers. And you're Natasha...?"

"Romanoff," she supplies. "It's nice to meet you, Steve Rogers. It's nice to meet a 'fan' who actually cares about our music. I mean, the teenage girls are always genuine, but most of the men usually show up for the leather and tits."

If Steve were drinking something, took a sip of his coffee in that moment maybe, he probably would have chocked and spit it out all over her. He would never! He's about to assure her right when one of her bandmates—Maria, he thinks—slinks up to the table and tells her they’re ready to bolt. Steve takes in their surroundings and just notices their entire group is halfway to the door.

"I'll be right out," Natasha tells them, but then has another idea and tugs on Maria's arm to whisper in her ear. Maria rolls her eyes and trudging outside without another word. "I'm keeping this, by the way." Natasha taps her finger again the CD. "So you should probably sign it."

"Yes, ma'am."

Natasha smiles at that, this mischievous little smile that makes his heart speed up at the possibilities. By the time he writes a quick SGR at the bottom of the CD, Maria walks back over, sliding a new CD on the table. Natasha takes the Sharpie right out of his hand and writes on the brand new one. When he sees _to Steve_ in her pretty handwriting, he feels like such a little boy with a crush.

"Uh, if you wouldn't mind signing something else...Rebecca is your biggest fan and she'd kill me if she knew I met you and didn't ask for an autograph..."

Natasha pauses midway through drawing a smiley face after her name. She actually looks a little disappointed before schooling her expression into neutrality and asking, "Your girlfriend?"

"No!" Steve actually does shout that time, but luckily it's after midnight and they're practically the only ones in there. "No," he says much quieter. "Rebecca's my best friend's kid sister, who I was babysitting. She's pretty much your biggest fan. But I mean, she's twelve. She'd probably hit me for using the word ‘babysitting.’”

"Ah.” Natasha gives him that brilliant smile of hers that definitely puts his little drawing of her to shame. “Sure. If everything works out, maybe she could meet the band or something. Anything for our biggest fan." She sounds like she really means it, really cares about her fans, and Steve finds that so cool.

"Yeah," Steve says on an exhale. "She'd like that."

As Steve sips his coffee, Natasha thumbs out a text while stealing more mischievous little looks at him. The quiet that settles in between them is surprisingly comfortable. He was drawn in the moment he saw her, but now that they've met and talked, she's charming and soulful and he thinks he could talk to her for hours. Not too long after, an irritated Maria walks back into the diner and throws a t-shirt right at Natasha's face.

"She loves me," Natasha insists, spreading out the shirt on the table between them. Steve’s mouth drops open in a smile when he sees the shirt already covered in other signatures, the other girls in the band, he assumes. Natasha quickly adds her name, but leaves off the smiley face. _The smiley face is just for him._ Steve shakes his head at himself, feeling ridiculous and loving it.

"Natasha, we better get going.” Pepper walks over, eyes still on her phone. "Tony is—” She looks up and just notices Steve. "Oh. Hello."

"Pepper, this is Steve,” Natasha introduces them. “He's the artist who’s going to design our album artwork and we were talking possible visuals for future shows. Maybe a logo."

"Well, it's about time!" Pepper exclaims. He can see why she's their manager, she seems particularly enthusiastic as she goes on to tell Steve all about how she’s been nagging the girls for month about a logo, brand recognition, she calls it. Pepper hands Steve her business card and shakes his hand and seems so surprised by this unexpected partnership. When Steve raises his eyebrows at Natasha, she just winks and steals a sip of his coffee.

When Maria ducks her head back into the diner and shouts for Pepper and Natasha to get a move on it or get left behind, the former nearly power walks off while the latter lingers.

"We're playing Bowery Tuesday," Natasha says. He might not be a rock aficionados, but he knows that's big, something to be nervous and excited about. "Doors open at 8. Show's at 9. It's 18 and over so Rebecca might have to sit this one out."

"Can't win 'em all." He winces playfully. "Where do I buy tickets? Is there a poor college kid discount?"

Natasha hums (even that is musical) as she studies him. "It's on me. I'll leave you a ticket at the door." As she slides out of her seat, Natasha grabs the CD he doodled on and waves it at him. "Thanks for this, Steve Rogers."

"See you Tuesday, Natasha." He leans back in his seat as he watches her go. The rhythm and sway of her body as she moves reminds him of her music somehow. Steve knows he's in over his head and he can't wait to go deeper.

"And Steve?" She turns to give him a sharp smile from over her shoulder so suddenly, he jumps at being caught watching her go. "Don't forget your jean jacket."

Steve just smiles and watches Natasha disappear out the front door. His cheeks burn as he looks down at the CD she signed for him. His smile widens when he realizes she left him her phone number along with her name and that smiley face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: The opening acts at the rock show include one man band Peter Quill (who calls himself Star-Lord, whatever that's about) and some jerk DJ Deadpool who didn't even bother to show up.


	2. Baseball AU: Yankees Fan & Dodgers Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha should be on a beach partying with her friends over spring break, but no, she's driving Nick to a baseball game in a small town upstate and calling out a mouthy Dodgers fan who's actually kind of cute when he isn't hating on her team.

Malibu.

All of her friends are spending their spring break soaking up the sun (and free booze) at one of Tony Stark’s many, _many_ beach houses (seriously, he brags about having _many_ all the time) and where is Natasha?

“Natasha, where’s my lucky jacket!”

Being blamed for Nick’s inability to find his lucky jacket, apparently. Digging through Nick’s mess of a motel room to find said lucky jacket, then driving through a little town no one has ever heard of to see a minor, minor nothing league baseball game. In Nick’s defense, he did just have surgery on his left eye and should be recuperating, but in his words exactly, _The Draft waits for no one, least of all a goddamn busted eye!_

Nick Fury is a once player, future Hall of Famer and longtime baseball scout for the New York Yankees. How they received the gross honor of the number one draft pick is a tragedy in itself, so much so Nick is damn sure he isn’t about to make it worse by picking a dud. It’s a business trip more than anything and he absolutely guilt tripped her into being his chauffeur and playing devil's advocate. Seeing as he's already helping her pay for college, Natasha couldn’t exactly say no.

When Natasha was just a girl, Nick would take her on his scouting trips and she loved it. She remembers wearing a worn NYY ball cap like it was a uniform and toting around her little red notebook where she’d write down her observations and spill mustard all over. Then she got older and school and ballet recitals took priority, but steps toward having her own life didn’t, _couldn’t_ stop Nick from spending well over 200 nights on the road every year. Regardless, they’d still watch games together, both at home and at the stadium, and her love for baseball never really died.

Natasha leans against the chain-link fence around the baseball field and noisily sips her Diet Coke. She gnaws on her straw as she surveys the field and the players on it. They’re here to see the number one prospect at the top of Nick’s top secret list.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Pitching velocity? She watches his straight fastball. The batter doesn’t even see it until the umpire calls a strike. Had to be at least 90mph. Good. But she knows Nick will say, _average_. And, _let’s see if he’s consistent._

Athleticism? The bat cracks against the ball and Barnes jumps a good 30” off the ground, catching the ball in his glove for an out. Well, there goes the old adage about how white men can’t jump. Nick would just grunt in response.

Control? Barnes winds up, throws a scorcher and it flies _behind_ the batter. Well, that could use some work.

“On the mound for the Howlers is James ‘Bucky’ Buchanan Barnes…”

Natasha looks for who’s calling the game, the voice sounding almost old-timey like what you’d hear on the radio in the 1940’s. She’s surprised to find a boy who must be around her age talking into his pen. His blue baseball cap backwards, blonde hair poking out from underneath, and the sleeves of his shirt cuffed to his shoulders, showing off gangly arms. His friend beside him twirls a radar gun in one hand while texting with the other, but Wannabe Announcer gives his undivided attention to the game.

“…Buck has the lowest ERA rating among pitchers in all of upstate New York with more than a thousand innings and more than a hundred starts…since Little League, that is. Bucky deals—” They watch intently as Barnes or, well, _Bucky_ winds up and fires off a pitch that has Wannabe Announcer shooting up from his seat. “Slow breaking ball! Got ’em!” He grins wide and sits back down beside his friend who’s still texting. “Bucky dishes his fifth strikeout of the day. That’s three and out with Morita next up to bat…”

“Ninety-five,” his friend reads off the radar gun, face unimpressed. “Whatever. As long as the game ends before my dad gets back from his fishing trip. He will whoop my ass then toss me in jail for a night if he knows I borrowed his radar gun.” The boy fixes his Detroit cap atop his head as he surveys the stands. “Dude, there are so many scouts here! And to see Barnes?” He scoffs. “I mean, he’s alright, but he isn’t _all that_.”

“Right. That’s why you can't even touch his knuckler.”

“Steve! Is that who I think that is?” His friend ignores the comment and changes the subject, somewhere between tactful and tactless. “Dude! He’s that vet from the Yankees!”

“You need to relax, Sam,” the blonde chides with a scowl. “Buck would pledge a life of celibacy before he signs with the Yankees.”

Natasha may not particularly prescribe to the whole notion of sports fan culture extremism, but that certainly strikes a nerve. Before she even realizes, Natasha crosses her arms and asks aloud, “What’s wrong with the Yankees?”

Both guys quickly turn in near perfect synchronization and look right at her. Natasha juts her chin out challengingly, half-wishing she didn’t forget her Yankees hat in the car just incase these boys weren’t clear on where she stood on the very important matter. Team loyalty is serious business after all. The skinner and shorter of the two, _Steve_ , literally stands and turns his faded blue cap around so she sees that Brooklyn Dodgers _B_ right above the bill. Well, that explains that.

“Besides your own personal bias, obviously,” Natasha adds.

“If you watched them play, you’d know,” Steve replies.

Natasha laughs and invites herself closer. “The Yankees and the _Los Angeles_ Dodgers met what? One three-game series last regular season? Which the Yankees dominated so I can see why a sad, sad faithful like yourself would be a little salty.”

The guy called Sam laughs so hard he starts to cough. “Damn.”

“Luck,” Steve says matter-of-factly. “Plus, everyone knows the postseason is what really counts. Oh wait, the Yankees peaked too early and didn’t make the playoffs, did they?” He winces dramatically because he’s clearly a little shit. “Probably why they’re picking first in the draft.”

Natasha narrows her eyes and digs her black and white Chucks into the dirt. “Your hometown hero would be lucky if the Yankees even looked at him, let alone drafted him.”

“He’s not my hero,” Steve says. “He’s my best friend.”

“Order for Natasha!” a voice calls out from the snack bar. She looks and the two boys look at her and discover her name more or less the same way she discovered theirs. Still, she just continues to give them a hard look, feeling like walking away now would be letting them, _him_ win, unacceptable, and also ridiculous, but that’s how she feels.

“Mrs. Barnes _would_ appreciate him staying in New York,” Sam points out, resting his chin on his hand, eyes darting back and forth between Steve and Natasha like this is the best verbal tennis match he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“It’s the principal, Sam,” Steve says without even looking at him.

“Dude, I’m a Tigers fan. I don’t have a dog in this fight. I’m just here for the drama.”

“Natasha! Where’s my hot dog?” Fury bellows across the bleachers. And when Natasha looks, so do the two boys and half the people within earshot. “And don’t forget the mustard!”

“Holy…” Steve stops himself before swearing, showing some serious restraint as his eyes go wide. “That’s Nick Fury.”

“I told you!” Sam shouts. “Did I say that or not?” Sam jumps up and down and shakes Steve by his flimsy arm. “The eye patch threw me off, but dude! It’s _him_! I watch highlights of his no hitters instead of studying!” His wide eyes turn to Natasha. “Are you Natasha? Do you know Nick Fury is talking to you? Are you with Nick Fury?”

“Not _with_ him,” Natasha corrects. “Gross.”

Steve tears his eyes away from Nick, who’s slamming an open palm against his own radar gun (that isn’t police-issued like Sam’s) before outright slamming the poor thing against the bench, cursing to himself. “You’re a scout for the Yankees?”

“I’m done with an idiot Dodgers fan shit talking my team is what I am,” Natasha mutters, turning away from the boys and kind of loving how her hair flips over her shoulder just right. Two ballpark hot dogs in paper trays are waiting for her in the pick-up window, every bite packed with nostalgia. Natasha stares at the squeeze bottles of ketchup and mustard on the extras counter. Nick is very particular about his mustard application, which is probably why he should have gotten it himself.

“Hey, Dum-Dum, can I get some condiments packets?” a timid voice asks. Natasha turns to find Steve giving her a sheepish smile. “You, uh, have to ask. Someone’s too cheap to leave them out for just anyone.”

Just as he says that, a burst of mustard, ketchup and relish packets shoot out of the pick-up window and hit Steve right in the chest, making his scramble to catch every one before they hit the ground. A disgruntled, disembodied voice mutters something along the lines of, “You’re a punk, Rogers,” and Natasha almost smiles. Steve holds out the condiment packets like something of a peace offering.

“Thanks.” Natasha takes all the mustard packets out of his bony, sweaty hands. There’s one lone packet still perched on his shoulder and she poaches that one too. When he realizes, Steve’s smile twists in embarrassment and she’s sure his ears tint red. She offers up a smile that’s just the tug of her lips to one side before heading back to the stands with a hot dog in each hand. It surprises her when Steve shuffles his feet, but follows along beside her.

“You know that was just dumb talk, right?” Steve asks shyly. “I just don’t want whatever idiot thing I said to affect Buck’s chances of being drafted. My ma, along with most of the neighborhood, always says I’ve got a big mouth for such a skinny punk.”

She’s noticed. Her eyes also dart down to his mouth as he talks, his bottom lip poking out further than the top. “I’m not a scout,” she says. “I don’t have a say in it. I’m just Nick’s driver and extra set of eyes because of the whole eye patch situation. And he’s kind of like a father to me…Wow, that sounded so lame.” She waits for the flood of questions she’s been asked all her life. _Really? Why? What happened to your parents? What is it like to have a Future Hall of Famer for a “father”?_

Steve doesn’t ask, just nods and tucks his hands into the front pockets of his wash worn, dirt streaked jeans. “So you know baseball. That’s…”

“Shocking?” she supplies. “Why? Because I’m a girl?”

“I was going to say cool. That’s _cool_.”

There’s something about him that’s so earnest, but with a sharp edge of sass. It makes it hard to be annoyed or forget him. Instead, all her effort goes into looking impassive and absolutely not smiling no matter what.

“I guess Bucky being drafted by the Yankees wouldn’t be so bad,” Steve resigns with a sigh.

“What? Are you his entourage or something? Did you have your heart set on him being a Dodger, riding his coattails to LA, all beaches and palm trees and banging Hollywood starlets?”

Steve laughs loudly and looks embarrassed after. “Are you kidding? I wish the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn! The heartache has been passed down for generations in the Rogers family, I’ll have you know.” The crowd cheers when Bucky’s up to bat. “He’s my best friend,” Steve repeats. He looks at her with assessing, ridiculously blue eyes and scratches his neck. “Didn’t you say you’re Nick Fury’s extra pair of eyes? I thought scouting is all about the little details?”

“I’m not a scout,” she says again. “And you’re a smartass.”

He’s cute when he smiles. And Natasha definitely isn’t smiling back. No way. No.

She purses her lips and turns her eyes back to the game even when Steve doesn’t, he keeps his eyes on her. “He’s going to need to prove he can control the ball. 95 miles per hour is great, but 95 consistently is better. He needs to be a machine on the mound. Other than that and questions about his arm strength, he looks like a solid prospect.”

“I usually play catcher and I’ve known and played and go my ass beat by Bucky since we were kids.” Steve flexes his hand nostalgically. “He gets the job done and he still has a lot of room to grow. All personal bias aside, of course.”

And if she smiles then, the moment is cut short by Nick shouting her name again. He isn’t even trying to embarrass her, just impatient. As the Howlers celebrate a home run, Nick actually looks at her and his distrusting eyes, well, _eye_ shifts to Steve. He has that dad look on his face like he’s going to pull aside this unworthy boy she’s talked to for five minutes and warn him about the collection of baseball bats he’s got in the trunk of their car.

“I should go,” Natasha says quietly. “Good luck to your friend.” Then she gives him a biting smile. “Sorry, I can’t say the same to your Dodgers.”

“Who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other in the city!” Steve shouts after her and he sounds almost breathless. “Maybe at a game at Yankees Stadium…when the Dodgers crush them on their own field, you can buy me one of those famous Nathan’s water dogs.”

She likes the sound of that as misguided as the poor shmuck is. “I’ll take those odds.”

Steve Rogers absolutely beams and when Natasha turns away, she lets herself smile.

In June, Natasha watches as James Buchanan Barnes is drafted number-one overall by the New York Yankees. The prospect with the man-bun wraps his arms around his mom and sister with the biggest smile on his face. Natasha leans in closer to her TV when she spots a familiar blonde give the newest Yankee a congratulatory slap on the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: On their first official date, Natasha and Steve sit side by side in stadium seats she knows he’s trying really hard not to fan-out over. And if the kiss cam finds them out of the thousands of others in the stand, it’s pure coincidence…even though Natasha knows the entire stadium staff from the groundskeeper to the kiss cam operator.


	3. Childhood Friends AU AKA The Sandlot AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is in no way connected to the Baseball AU in the previous chapter! 
> 
> Tiny Steve Rogers gets cornered by bullies. Tiny Natasha Romanoff to the rescue!

Steve Rogers cannot back down from a bully to save his life. He literally can’t. 

His best friend, Bucky, would call him a stubborn punk, but Bucky’s family moved away at the start of the summer on account of his dad’s job so it’s not like the jerk is here to say it. It also means Bucky isn’t here to help when a gang of bigger boys corner Steve in the alley behind the line of mom and pop shops on Main Street. Brock Rumlow, the biggest bully in the neighborhood, pulls Steve’s Brooklyn Dodgers cap on over his short, dark hair and kicks dirt onto Steve’s baseball glove on the ground. Steve lunges forward, but two of Rumlow’s goons have a firm grip on his skinny arms, holding him back. 

“Give it back, Rumlow!” Steve shouts, gritting his teeth and ignoring the sting in his left eye that’ll probably be as big and purple as a plum by supper. 

Rumlow laughs his big bully laugh, but before he start with his big bully speech, a baseball comes flying outta nowhere and hits Rumlow right in the face. He doubles over, holding a hand to his cheek. Steve’s old ball cap tips off of Rumlow’s head and plops into the dirt. While his friends stare in shock, Steve yanks his arms free, slides through the dirt to grab his cap and glove before hustling to freedom. When he gets a look at his savior, Steve nearly trips over his own feet. 

She’s about his height, with red hair curling out from under a NY Yankees ball cap and eyes narrowed at Rumlow and his lackeys. Her clothes are faded and don’t fit right, but looking down at his own shirt that’s worn so thin it’s practically transparent, Steve isn’t one to judge. _A girl saved him._ Though he’d have a problem with _anyone_ stepping in for him, in his short twelve years of life, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever met a girl so gutsy. Well, other than Peggy Carter, the lifeguard at the community pool, and his mom, o’course. 

With a “C’mon!” Steve runs as fast as his short chicken legs will take him and the redhead easily matches his strides. While fleeing, Steve vaguely hears Rumlow and his goons talking behind him. 

“Who the hell is that bitch?” 

“She’s one of those foster kids. The one that talks funny.” 

“She’s dead!” 

“She’s Clint Barton’s kid sister. You’re on your own with that one, Brock.” 

Steve can feel his lungs working overtime, but he tries to hide it, doesn’t want her to notice, especially with how they’re running in complete synchronization. He’s sure to take the long way to the sandlot, running down alleys and cutting through neighbors’ backyards until finally they arrive at their safe haven. He smiles when he sees Sam and Scott tossing a ball back and forth between first and home plate. It’s first come first serve and this marks the tenth day of summer they’ve beaten out the rest of the neighborhood kids. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees the girl who saved his butt rummaging through the bag at her hip and he scrambles to take a hit from his inhaler while she’s occupied. 

“Uh, thanks,” Steve says, turning the bill of his hat so it sits backwards on his head, sweat-laced blonde hair poking out in the space above the adjustable strap. “That was a nice throw.”

“For a girl?” she asks, popping a piece of pink bubble gum into her mouth. She props a hand up on her hip as she blows a bubble until it pops. When he hears her speak, he doesn’t think her voice is funny, just different. 

“Uh, for anyone?” Steve replies, and if his face is red right now he’s going to blame it on the heat and their dramatic getaway. “Do you play?” 

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares at him. Not in a bad way, but it doesn’t feel particularly good either. She has to be around his age, but she looks at him like someone much older, like she can look at him and know everything she needs to know about him as a person without exchanging a word. After she’s seemingly decided, maybe deemed him worthy, she reaches into her bag and pulled out a baseball glove that looks well used, _CB_ and a smiley face with x’s for eyes faded, but enduring on the dark leather. 

“Welcome to the team,” Steve says cheerfully. “We could use a catcher. Our old one, my best friend, Bucky, he moved away and—uh…I don’t know your name?” 

“Natasha.”

“Natasha,” he repeats, deciding different can be good and he wants to hear more. “I’m Steve. Those guys over there are—”

“Heads up!” 

Steve looks over to his friends who are looking back at them, a baseball speeding right toward them. There isn’t even enough time to think. Steve nearly pushes Natasha out of the way, but before he can reaction, she catches the ball right in her palm like Dottie from _A League of Their Own_ , his mom’s favorite movie. Steve swears he can hear his friends gasp and the astonishment on his face surely matches theirs. 

“That was awesome, Nat!” Steve shouts, shaking her by her shoulders, exciting spilling from his smile. When her eyes dart to his hand on her bare skin, Steve quickly pulls away, blushing something fierce, but smiling nonetheless. “Something tells me you’ll fit right in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: Steve can't figure out why Natasha gets so upset at him every time he tells her they're hanging out at the community pool, not the sandlot. He thinks she assumes they only go to check out Peggy Carter and that's disrespectful to women or something. Steve apologizes immediately, but Natasha still ignores him for days after. Sam calls him dense as concrete. It's the only thing Sam and Bucky have ever agreed on.


	4. Backpacking Through Europe AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous: “Steve backpacks through Europe for the summer with his dream girl Natasha" au

The hostel they’re staying at isn’t the nicest, but it is clean and Steve doesn’t have to share a room full of bunkbeds with ten other strangers like the last one. Here, he’s just sharing a room with Natasha. No, no big deal, not at all, no. 

Steve gulps, listening to the pipes in the crumbling wall as Natasha takes a shower. He’s sitting on their bed because, of course, there’s only one. Sam and Bucky elected to share the other room, which she had to have found fishy because Steve swears he can hear them bickering from here, but Natasha just joked that Steve was the least likely to cop a feel anyway. Sam and Bucky probably high-fived. The idiots are gonna have fun making speeches at their wedding. _Their wedding_. He hasn’t so much as kissed the girl and he’s already thinking about marrying her. _Get a grip, Rogers._

Natasha wasn’t supposed to be the only girl in their little group backpacking through Europe. Maria and Wanda were committed to the trip for many of their drunken nights spent planning in the bar on campus. Then Maria landed an awesome summer internship in D.C. and Wanda’s brother broke his leg in three places in a soccer match so she had to back out to help him out.

Steve listens closely to the pipes while drawing. They’d spent the day at the Louvre. While Sam and Bucky nearly cried laughing at how small and unimpressive Mona Lisa actually is, Steve realized Natasha wasn’t around and slipped away. When he found her, she was standing alone in front of sculpture—two marble lovers, one with wings, faces close, fingers in hair and so much emotion. The look on Natasha’s face, deep in thought, still despite chatter and movement all around her was something he knew he needed to capture. He’d also die if she ever saw. 

“Hey.”

Steve hugs his sketchbook close to his chest. Natasha’s at the foot of the bed, wearing a silk nightgown that reminds him of freshman year in the dorms when she’d walk to the floor showers in much the same, not because she wanted attention, but because she didn’t care what anyone said or thought. This is the first time this particular piece of sleepwear has made an appearance on this trip. This is also the first night they aren’t sharing a room with Sam and Bucky and whoever else.

“Shit, Nat.” Steve laughs. “You scared me! How do you always sneak up on me like that?”

“Haven’t you heard, Rogers?” She crawls up the bed toward him and he can’t breathe. “I’m a spy.” 

“I wouldn’t rule it out as a future career option.” Steve quickly closes his sketchbook as she settles in beside him against the headboard. Unfortunately for him, her eyes don’t miss his frantic movement. 

“You aren’t going to show me what you’re working on?” she asks. 

“Ah, I figured you’ve had enough art for one day and actual, fine art. Like my quick sketches could ever compare.” 

“Steve, your work is amazing.” Natasha gets this little impish grin on her face and he wonders how he got so lucky to even know her, let alone to be sitting on a bed in a room in Paris, alone with her. “If you show me, I’ll show you something.” 

“What?” He practically gasps.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

They both know he’s going to give her what she wants and hands over the sketchbook. The last time she skimmed through it was on the train to Pompeii, her head on his shoulder, Sam and Bucky giving him stupid look from across the car. Most of his drawings are landscapes, buildings, architecture, and characters they’ve met along the way. There’s even one where Sam fell asleep on Bucky during the plane ride from JFK to Catania. Natasha snapped a photo with her phone (for blackmail) and he had to draw it. Steve has never drawn Natasha, that is, until now. 

Steve knows the exact moment she sees the drawing of her because her hand stills on the page and her face fractures, surprise that turns into something else. Natasha is guarded, something he learned about her early and respects, gives her the space she needs when she needs it. Lately, on this trip, he’s starting to feel like he’s getting glimpses of her away from the every day, glimpses of just _her_ , like earlier in the museum and now. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I should’ve asked first…”

“No. It’s great. You’re talented. That’s a no-brainer.” Her fingers dance over the sculpture, part of which he drew, but didn’t get a chance to finish. “Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss. I saw it for the first time in Saint Petersburg…” Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything for a beat. “Do you ever feel homesick for a place that was never really home?”

“Can’t say I have,” Steve replies. He may not have had a lot when he was a kid, but his mom did everything she could to give him what she could and it definitely felt like home. “But sometimes I miss someone I never really knew.” He thinks of the metal dog tags he’s had all his life, despite never knowing the man they belonged to. “Is it sort of like that?” 

“Sort of.” Natasha smiles to herself and when she looks up at him, her eyes are wet. He’s never seen her like this before and feels a surge of concern, but before he can say or do anything, Natasha kisses him. 

When they pull away, Steve laughs, realizing he has the goofiest grin on his face. “That’s what you bring to show and show?”

She arches an eyebrow and his heart flutters. “Are you saying you’re unimpressed, Rogers?”

“Not the word I’d use.” Steve brings his hand up to cup her face and leans in to kiss her. Natasha parts her lips and he can’t figure out why they haven’t done this two cities ago, why he hasn’t tried to draw her _years_ ago. He doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until she’s laughing against his mouth and he’s chasing her lips. 

“And that was just a preview,” Natasha announces, twisting to click off the lamp on the bedside table. 

The straps of her nightgown fall down her shoulders one after the other before ending up on the floor along with the rest of their clothes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: When Steve and Natasha walk downstairs to breakfast, hand-in-hand, Sam and Bucky already have knowing looks ready and plastered across their faces. No announcement necessary. 
> 
> “So, you two didn’t kill each other,” Natasha says, sitting herself on Steve’s lap and picking at the basket of pastries on the table. “Shocking."
> 
> “We discovered a common enemy last night,” Bucky replies.
> 
> “ _Dude_.” Sam waves his fork at them. “What part of _the walls are damn thin_ don’t you understand?”


	5. Figure Skating AU: Ice Queen & Hockey Player

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous. "Since you love sports AUs and I love watching Steve and Natasha being in sync with each other, how about a figure skating AU? With the lifts and the throws and the coordinated outfits and the dancing on ice and just ahhhhh! I want it! XD"
> 
> When Olympic gold medalist, Natasha Romanoff, needs a new partner, her mentor, Sarah Rogers suggests Steve, a former pro hockey player with quite an attitude. Unbeknown to Sarah (or maybe not), the two have a complicated history.

A Russian figure skater competing for the United States and a former professional hockey player walk into a bar…no. That’s not right…

A Russian figure skater competing for the United States and a former professional hockey player agree to compete in pairs figure skating together… It sounds like the beginning of an even worse joke. Just the idea is laughable as in the entire skating community had a good laugh over the news of their partnership. It sounds like a silly waste of time, but if Natasha has learned anything under her mentor’s tutelage, it’s to trust in Sarah Rogers.

Natasha’s family came to America when she was seven and she’s been skating even longer. A year later is when Sarah Rogers, Olympic gold medalist turned nurse turned coach approached her at a local rink. Sarah’s pitch about seeing Natasha’s natural talent and a possible future in the sport had been nothing short of persuasive, ignoring two boys roughhousing just behind her, sword fighting with hockey sticks while the smaller of the two shouted, “Ma! Mom! Tell Bucky he’s being a jerk!”

The Romanoffs took the night to sleep on it and gave Sarah a call the next morning.

In addition to taking Natasha under her wing, Sarah invested in the Romanoffs’ dream of opening a little Russian bakery (with an autographed photo of Nat by the register, the one her dad would point to and tell _everyone_ his daughter would win gold one day). She was also there for Natasha when her parents died in an awful car accident, walked her through the funeral and offered up her couch when the bank foreclosed on the bakery. So if Sarah says her best shot is pairing up with a guy who’s only ever had the most basic training as a kid, Natasha agrees to try.

They absolutely should not work, but they do. He matches her strides with surprising grace and confidence she’s rarely seen him exhibit on solid ground. When he holds her and lifts her, it’s with unyielding strength and a steadiness that makes her insides flutter, but not from fear. When he looks at her out on the ice, it’s like he’s actually in love with her, which could not be further from the truth. Steve Rogers is kind and compassionate, but he’s also stubborn and can be a little shit when he wants to be.

“There. Did you see that?” Sarah pauses the film they’re watching in a room that overlooks the rink. Her eyes critical, but her smile proud. She rewinds and plays it back in slow motion, Steve and Natasha executing a side-by-side triple lutz in perfect synchronization. “Huge element, huge score. Steve’s hands could use some work, though…”

Natasha hums in agreement, returning to her lunch instead of watching the next section of film that’s mainly Steve and her fumbling through the logistics of a drape lift. Once she’s in the air, he doesn’t have a problem, looks like he’s been doing this all his life, it’s just getting there and what to do after that’s beyond sloppy.

Mid-slurp of her soup, Natasha glances up and almost winces because _so awkward_. His arm’s tight around her waist as she ungracefully slides down his chest and his hand moves a little lower than what’s required as he sets her back on the ice. When Sarah first proposed her mad experiment, her biggest concern was how long it’d take Steve to become comfortable with the touching, but to her surprise, that isn’t the problem. It’s the fact that they can’t stand each other.

“We worked that out, just so you know,” Natasha assures Sarah, though it isn’t necessary. Sarah’s always there, observing, directing and encouraging their “communication” a.k.a when they yell at each other, mostly Natasha hesitating before a throw and Steve arguing that he knows what he’s doing. Sarah just smiles and tells them this is good, that total honesty is required for a functional partnership.

“I am not wearing this,” Steve announces, his voice drenched in dread and certainty as he walks into the room.

Natasha hears Sarah’s laughter first and foremost. Steve’s wearing a sheer sequin shirt beneath a red velvet vest, both much too small for his broad, muscular frame, the fabric pulled taut at the buttons. The black pants are a weird fit, noticeable in the crotch. Not to mention, the entire ensemble is covered in sparkles that can be used to direct air traffic in case of an emergency. For someone accustom to wearing gigantic hockey jerseys and layers of padding, it’s clear he feels exposed and hates it.

“That is _something_ ,” Natasha says, slowly dragging her eyes up and down his body just to add to his discomfort for fun, of course. Steve refuses to acknowledge her presence, instead fixing his mother with narrowed eyes and a pinched forehead.

Sarah puts on the straightest face she can as she says, “You look fine, sweetheart. It just needs some minor adjustments.”

Steve deadpans. “Ma, do you see these pants?”

“I’m pretty sure they can see those pants from space, Rogers,” Natasha assures him.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” he replies sarcastically. Natasha rolls her eyes at his tone. Despite the muscles and the accolades in the hockey world, deep down, he’s still and always will be that little boy who resented her for stealing away mommy’s time and attention. “Ma, a studded crotch-seam? Really?”

Sarah bursts with laugher and it’s such a great laugh, Natasha can’t help, but smile and even Steve cracks with the slightest tilt of his lips.

“Fine, I’ll call Edna, but be prepared to rearrange your schedule. She’s a very busy woman.” Sarah pulls her phone out of her pocket and heads to the door, but not before snapping a photo of Steve. He lunges for her phone, but freezes at the smallest sound of fabric tearing. “Change before you rip something. Shallow breaths until you do.”

Steve can’t start tugging at the vest buttons fast enough. “While you’re at it, please ask Miss Mode to lose some of the sparkle.”

“If anything, we should add more,” Sarah argues. “It’s cold on the ice. We need to hide your nipples.”

“Mom!” Steve shouts. Sarah just laughs all the way out the door.

“Maybe less sparkle is a good idea. As if you need more attention.” Natasha knows it isn’t Steve’s fault the media has latched onto his story, that she’s regarded as Steve Rogers’ partner more than any of her long list of titles (National Champion, World Champion, Olympic gold medalist, etc.) and he never rubs it in, never even brings it up, but whatever. Natasha glances over in time to see Steve undo the last button of his shirt, peeling the material off his ridiculously defined arms and baring his sculpted chest. “Do you have to do that here? Literally any other room would do.”

He meets her eyes and there’s a twinkle among the blue. She already knows he’s about to say something that ruins the, ahem, great view.

“I didn’t hear you complaining those nights in Sochi,” Steve mutters.

_God. There it is. Asshole._

When his own words meet his ears, Steve looks like he regrets it immediately, a blush blazing across his skin like a brushfire. “I mean, uh…”

Natasha doesn’t fluster, just stares him down even harder now. “You mean the time we never speak of because we’d both die of humiliation if anyone found out we fucked at the Winter Olympics?” Steve clamps his mouth shut and just nods. “I completely forgot until you mentioned it right now.”

Steve scoffs, grabbing his Rogers Ice Rink fleece pullover off the back of a nearby chair and slipping it on. “If we’re going to convince millions of people this partnership can actually work, your acting’s gonna need some work.”

 _God_. She really should have known better, especially after an ill-fated romance ruined her first partnership _and_ her third. Both bringing in the wrong kind of media attention and countless headaches.

(She tries to forget how Steve had been the one to clean out Alexei’s locker because he couldn’t bother to return to the rink and do it himself. Steve dumped bottles of cologne and a battered Zhukovsky paperback straight into the garbage and told her, _you deserve better anyway_. She constantly tries to forget how Steve had thrown his arm around her and steered her away from an awkward encounter with Matt and the Greek alpine skier he left her for, which led to vodka shots, which led to other things in Sochi…)

The simple fact that he’s Sarah’s son should be reason enough to put him in a box labeled _do not touch_ and she did for a long time. It’s just, Steve and the U.S. men’s hockey team had won gold and the run-in with Matt was killing her buzz from her own gold medal and the _quality alcohol_. Despite years of tug-of-war over Sarah, Natasha could admit she was happy for him and his eyes were so bright as he returned the sentiment. His smile so beautiful and his hands so big as he pressed her into the door of her hotel room and the way he gasped when she pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him…

“It’s never happening again,” Natasha says firmly.

“Of course not,” Steve agrees. “It was just the adrenalin and, you know, the Olympics.”

“And the quality vodka.”

“Exactly,” he says quickly, just to turn shy a moment later. “And can we…continue to keep it quiet? Not that I’m ashamed or anything! That night… You were…” His eyes flicker to her lips and she wonders if he realizes how easy he is to read. When he meets her eyes again, it’s with a nervous smile. “Uh, but my mom—”

Natasha cuts him off with an amused laugh. “Sarah would send you straight to Confession if she found out.”

“More like, give me an ol' fashioned talking to. _How dare you be so careless, jeopardizing_ her _career like that_!” It’s a terrible impersonation of his mom and the way he shakes his head says he knows it. When he looks over at her, it’s in this soft sort of way that’s damn confusing. “She loves you…but she loves me more.”

“Keep lying to yourself, Sparkle Pants.” Natasha heads out the door, just to pop back in with a vicious smirk. “By the way, Steve, your mom has seen us skate together. I’m pretty sure she knows if not strongly, _strongly_ suspects. If my acting’s bad, you need a miracle.”

Steve opens his mouth, but has no reply and settles for an exasperated laugh instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: After their first time competing together, Steve and Natasha are all smiles, adrenalin and pride. His pants are just as sparkly, but that seems a nonissue now. Natasha grips his hand in hers even when they’re off the ice and have their score—the best of the night. 
> 
> “Hey, Captain America!” some jackass shouts from the stands. “You wear a cup under those tights, bro? You should, skating with the Ice Queen.”
> 
> Steve can’t help, but try to get in the guy’s face, but Natasha and Sarah work together to rein him in before things can escalate. Later, Steve’s still fuming, all how dare some random guy ruin what should be a great night. Natasha doesn’t agree, doesn’t chastise him either, just tugs him down by his old jersey and quiets him with a kiss. 
> 
> When Steve and Natasha are nowhere to be found and calls to both keep going to voicemail, Sarah smiles to herself, opens the Notes app on her phone, and starts jotting down potential names for future grandchildren.


	6. Supermodels AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supermodels AU: It amuses her to think while her backbone is long gone, his has grown immensely.

Sometimes, if you’re Natasha Romanoff, famous, successful supermodel, you wake up and realize you can’t remember the last time you’ve had a day someone else hasn’t planned for you. On those same days, if you’re Natasha Romanoff, you ignore it because there’s work to be done, commitments to fill, expectations to exceed. Fame comes with a price and if you’re Natasha Romanoff, that price is your soul.

Another day, another make up chair, another team pulling and pressing and transforming her into someone she doesn’t even recognize, someone with the name, the _brand_ Natasha Romanoff that she’s become almost too good at selling. It also means another set, another demanding photographer, all eyes on her.

“He just got here,” one of the makeup artists gossips as she fills in Natasha’s sinfully red lips. “Rode in on his motorcycle.”

“So hot,” another agrees. “If they make him shave his face, I will _die_.”

Ah, days like this also mean another leading man to pose alongside. Natasha has no idea who’s opposite her. She’s sure her agent or publicist or personal assistant mentioned it at some point, but her attention span is miniscule on days like this along with her patience and effort to pretend to give a shit about any of it anymore.

“You’re so lucky.” One girl nearly squeals and touches Natasha’s shoulder, maybe before she even realizes she’s doing it. Professionalism is clearly dead, but at least the young girl knows enough that her smile is tinged in embarrassment. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! It’s just—he’s Steve Rogers!”

_Steve Rogers._

Natasha’s eyes go a little wide, but she’s sure no one notices. Maybe her team neglected to mention it because she would have recognized that name. Steve Rogers who she worked with once before when he had just been discovered and her career had just skyrocketed. Steve Rogers, whose body exceeds male perfection, who’s shy and oh so naive. Steve Rogers who kissed her while they were filming, who she slapped across the face. She remembers how confused and apologetic he had looked, his reddened cheek in his hand, insisting the director instructed him to do so before they started filming. Honestly, she had been more upset about how they neglected to tell _her_ about it beforehand and less about the kiss itself.

The “sources” on set made it sound worse than it was in an array of gossip magazines. Maybe it was for the best, a change from the usual accusations that she was cheating on her Olympic gold medalist (now ex) husband, Alexei “Pride of Russia” Shostakov. The rest of the shoot hadn’t been so bad. Steve apologized profusely and she accepted it gracefully because she isn’t the diva those same papers make her out to be. The rest of the shoot had even been sort of fun and their steamy scenes became the highlight of the music video. Steve sent her flowers after—yellow roses—and every time they ran into each other at parties and events, they’d share friendly smiles and simple greetings, a dance once, before being yanked in opposite directions.

Now here they are again, this time they’ve both been made the faces of a pretty big fragrance empire. Now he is no longer green and shy Steve Rogers, but honed and confident. When she sees him for the first time in what feels like years, he’s arguing with the photographer, who asks him why he hasn’t shaved his five o’clock shadow. Steve argues back, saying no one told him ahead of time and it isn’t explicitly stated in his contract. It amuses her to think while her backbone is long gone, his has grown immensely. Eventually, the photographer throws his hands up and goes to tend to things he deems more important. Success.

“And the infamous Steve Rogers stubbornness wins again,” Natasha teases as she walks over to him. He perks up when he sees her. Not in a starstruck way, but he looks genuinely happy to see her and Natasha feels something she hasn’t felt in a while, something she thought died inside of her.

He looks downright _bashful._ “Miss Romanoff.”

“Please.” She dismisses his formalness with a quick flick of her eyes. “We’ve made out on film. I think you can call me Natasha.”

“Natasha,” he gives her name a try and fuck does it sound good rolling off his tongue. “I’m still sorry about that first time, by the way. It was a complete miscommunication.”

She teases him with a low _mhmm_. “Who knows? Maybe this shoot will be just as eventful as the first.”

Steve _beams_ at her, giving that word new meaning. “S’that a threat or a promise?”

Her smile is coy and he looks rather proud. Unfortunately, the photographer chooses this exact second to summon them and it’s time to work, put on her professional facade. Steve Rogers isn’t cocky, just confident and she can feel his eyes all over her even before the camera starts flashing, even before he’s obligated to look at her, and it feels good. After making a career out of being an object gazed at, profiting from being objectified, Natasha has gotten so used to prying, peeping eyes. She’s jaded, numb even. Steve makes it feel different. Steve makes her _feel_. It’s almost more of a reason to stay guarded, safe albeit alone.

The photoshoot goes by quickly. It’s an intense, high fashion blur working toward a huge, international ad campaign. They’re going to be on billboards across the globe, probably photoshopped, meant to entice and sell. Usually, Natasha would want to get through it quickly before moving on to the next commitment, but Steve Rogers makes her feel the opposite. He asks her before every little touch and when they’re artfully entwined and meant to be gazing at each other intensely, he’ll say something that makes her laugh, which then makes him laugh and surely make the photographer feel like he’s supervising high school detention more than shooting two of the world’s top models.

Whether the photographer finally captures the perfect shot he’s been searching for all day or just flat out gives up is beyond her, but a few hours later, Natasha’s changed into a pair of jeans and her leather jacket, slipping away while her agent yells at someone on the phone in his thick Russian accent. She escapes out a back door into the fresh air and leans against the wall as she lights a cigarette. Another day, another job, and more ahead.

“Looks like someone could use a friend right about now.”

Natasha looks up and sees Steve Rogers, wearing a brown leather jacket, sitting on his Harley right in front of her. She laughs, letting the end of her cigarette burn off and flutter away. “Is that what you want us to be?” She tilts her chin down and gives him a look that would be searing if she wasn’t so tired. “Friends?”

He sits back on his motorcycle and his face is so open, inviting her to read him like a book written in earnest. “What do you want me to be?”

She laughs again, weaker this time. After a moment that should test his patience, which he seems to have a limitless amount of, Natasha confesses, “It’s been quite a while since I’ve met someone I’d call a friend…”

Some days it feels like she’s surrounded by “friends” who expect things from her and shamelessly ask for favors and handouts and give her nothing, but empty promises and endless disappointment in return.

When Natasha meets those dazzling blue eyes that photograph so damn well, she expects pity, but instead she thinks she might see understanding or a longing to understand, which is new. He doesn’t reply to that and she’s sort of glad he doesn’t. Steve just reaches into the sidecase of his motorcycle, pulls out a second helmet and offers it to her. She knows she shouldn’t. She has plans. Every minute of every day is scheduled for her and packed with opportunities to further her career.

The _bang_ of the back door opening and slamming startles her out of her thoughts and there’s Ivan, her agent, angrily ending his phone call. He glances up at her and takes in the scene. That’s the last bit of convincing she needa. Natasha puts out her cigarette before taking the helmet and sliding it on over her head. Steve takes her hand and helps her onto the back of his motorcycle.

“Natalia!” Ivan shouts, but his anger and outrage is quickly drowned out by the roar of the engine and a moment later they’re speeding off the lot. She gasps as they jolt forward, the absolute rush she feels as she digs her fingers into the leather of Steve’s jacket and holds on for dear life. She clings to him as they leave the city and speed off along the coastline.

She can’t remember the last time she’s been outside without her agent or manager or people who were there purely for publicity. It gives her a rush, overtaking cars, wind biting at her skin, the biggest smile on her face. It feels reckless and wild and she can’t get enough. Feeling gutsy, Natasha lets go of Steve and stretches her arms out like she’s about to take flight, like Rose at the bow of the Titanic. She remembers being thirteen and wanting to be as beautiful and as famous as Kate Windslet. Now, if she wished anymore, she’d wish to be a kid again.

When Natasha brings her arms back around Steve, the tension leaves his body and he sinks into her touch. It makes her smile. He was _worried_ about her. He _cares_. It feels good to be cared about even in such a small, seemingly insignificant way. Her arms tighten around him, an equally small show of gratitude. Some days she’s convinced no one cares if she lives or dies. If she did die, there’s no doubt in her mind that her “team” would splash photos of her and statements, assumptions about her life, across every trash magazine to make one last buck. At least dead, she wouldn’t have to deal with any of it anymore.

Natasha feels Steve tense up again and only then does she realize she’s shaking, sobbing, then laughing at the dark place her head has become, the plastic thing her life has become. Steve takes the first exit that leads to nowhere and maybe he already understands her without trying because that’s exactly where she wants to be right now—nowhere _with him_.

Even when Steve shuts off his motorcycle, they just stay the way they are with her arms wrapped around him tight and his hand over hers.

“ _If you really want to know, what I want in a guy_ ,” Natasha sings softly against his shoulder. “ _Well, I'm lookin' for a dream on a mean machine, with hell in his eyes._ ” Steve laughs in recognition and mirth, giving her hands a squeeze. “I _want a devil in skin tight leather, and he's gonna be wild as the wind. And one fine night, I'll be holdin' on tight…_ ”

“ _To a coooool rider_ ,” Steve sings with her, hokey and over-the-top and he just makes her smile despite the wetness on her cheeks. “ _A coooool rider_.”

They both laugh and Steve turns so he can bring his hand to her cheek and wipe the tear tracks away. It’s crazy to her that _she_ could make anyone smile the way he’s smiling at her.

“Now, I enjoy a good sing-along, but I’m also kinda starving,” Steve says. “Food?”

“Food,” Natasha agrees.

They find a little restaurant inside of a little inn. Steve holds the door open for her and smiles wide when she orders pancakes for dinner because there’s no one here to tell her what she should eat to maintain her figure and she’s going to take full advantage. They walk along the beach after, their toes in the sand, shivering at each pass of the tide. She tugs him toward the water by the sleeve of his jacket, which turns into her arm linked through his, which turns into their fingers entwined as they walk back to the tiny spec of civilization, talking quietly, casually.

“Where to next?” he asks once the sun is long gone. “Home?”

Home. To her mansion that’s cold and empty, where Ivan is probably waiting because he has the security codes. Home to Russia, which is written on her birth certificate, but holds no fond memories for her. Just winter cold, thoughts of survival, not even fame, just desperation to get away. The same desperation she still feels, when she seemingly has everything she could ever want.

“What if we stay?” She twists her fingers a little tighter around his and Steve brings her knuckles up to his lips for a kiss.

And when they’re at the front desk of the little inn to rent a room for the night, Natasha peers over his shoulder and assures the woman behind the counter that they’ll only need one room, one bed.

And when his hands move up beneath her shirt and tickling over her ribs in the privacy of their room, Steve leans in and she leans in, but then he pulls away. Natasha groans in frustration. She can’t remember wanting anything as badly as she wants _this_ with _him._ Steve just grins and _asks_ if he can kiss her this time and Natasha mumbles something, she doesn’t even know, too busy yanking him down and sealing her lips over his.

And when he holds her after, both struggle to calm their breathing, she wants to ask if they can stay forever, the two of them together and this squeaky bed in this little inn and the sea just outside. Instead, she lays her head on his chest and sings, _“If it takes forever, then I'll wait forever. No ordinary boy, no ordinary boy is gonna do. I want a rider that's cool.”_

Steve laughs and holds her close in his big arms. “I’m not that cool.”

“Could’a fooled me.” She presses a slow, soft kiss to his shoulder without breaking eye contact.

Steve brings his fingers through her hair and leans down to kiss her sweetly on her lips. Just as they pull away, he asks, “Do you wanna go to a wedding with me?”

Natasha hums and snuggles into him. “Who’s wedding? Which of your high-profile buddies is having _the_ wedding of the year?”

“My cousin, actually.” He presses a kiss to her hair. “Oh, he’s top tier in the competitive world of locksmithery.” She pulls the sheets up over her mouth to hide her laughter. “Yup, he’s the best in Brooklyn. And his wife runs this little bakery that’s been in her family for ages. They’re high school sweethearts. It’s a real touching story, actually.”

“And you’re the workaholic cousin who’s never on the same coast during family get-togethers so your mom will kill you if you missed this,” she adds. “Am I warm?”

“Hot. Or I’m just predictable,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle. “Don’t forget my ma who only worries ‘cause she knows and loves me and prays to Saint Catherine of Bologna every night on my behalf. She’s the patron saint of artists and against temptation.” She can’t help, but give him a look that’s temptation personified. “Uh, I mean, Saint Catherine, not my ma.”

“She sounds great…” Natasha bites her lip, realizing he’s the best of both worlds. The boy next door _and_ hell on wheels. “Your mom. And Saint Catherine.” She sighs, trying her damnedest to remember what they’re talking about. “But I wouldn’t want to distract from the happy newlyweds…”

She also wouldn’t want to ask his family to sign NDA’s and she hates herself a little for even considering it.

“Hey,” Steve says gently, calling her back to him and away from her thoughts. He slides over her and brings their faces close. “I propose we go incognito.” Her nose crinkles as she smiles and he kisses her there. “No pressure. _But_ I’ll have you know I’ve only been courting you since that first shoot we did together.”

She snorts with laughter when she hears that. “Courting, huh?”

“I sent you flowers.”

“Apology flowers for trying to shove your tongue down my throat!”

“It was the director’s fault,” Steve swears. “I didn’t know you didn’t know.”

“I was also married at the time,” Natasha reminds him, and wishes she didn’t. “But that fell apart long before the one-sided tonguing incident, if we’re being honest.”

“First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna go out and get you a cake that says, _sorry again for the one-sided tonguing incident_ in cream cheese icing,” Steve says, before his face softens into an expression that almost looks vulnerable. “Remember that time we ran into each other at the Stark charity thing? I asked you to dance and stepped all over your feet.” She remembers, but tries to sound noncommittal when she hums. “I was, uh, gonna ask for your number, but I chickened out. Couldn’t stop thinking about you and my rep was tired of my whining as he put it so he called your rep and yours returned his call three weeks later, saying you weren’t interested.”

That’s news to her. For a moment, he almost looks hurt, like the memory of it is still fresh and maybe rejection can mentally fuck with handsome, successful people too. He shakes off that flash of vulnerability and leans in to burry his face in her neck, but she stops him with a hand on his shoulder because she _needs_ to see his eyes, she _needs_ him to see the bewilderment in hers. “Steve, I didn’t know…”

He just shrugs it off and she can see in his eyes that he believes her. “I know how the world works. I’m not good for your image.” He chuckles. “Your PR team is probably feeding TMZ some story about how I kidnapped you as we speak.” She glances at the side table where her dead phone sits and she’s never felt so far from the world. It makes her feel anxious, but also excited and alive.

“My team sucks,” Natasha says.

“Nothing you can’t fix,” Steve assures her. “Maybe it’s time to start surrounding yourself with friends, Nat.”

_Nat_. That feels especially good. And there’s that word again. _Friends_. Is that what they are? Is this what friends do? Honestly, at this very second, she doesn’t care. This feels like the realest thing in her life and she has no plans to let go anytime soon.

“By the way,” Steve says, staring at her faded red lips. “I don’t need an answer right now. The wedding isn’t for another four months.” When she laughs and slaps at his chest, Steve gives her that smile, realer and crinklier than the one she’s seen on countless billboards. He leans in, but pauses and pulls back, looking her in the eyes for a beat that almost makes her nervous. “Can I kiss you? I figured I should ask because last time—”

“Shut up, Rogers.” Natasha digs her nails into his side and he yelps, but it soon turns into digging her nails into his back and drawing lines into his skin as he rocks between her thighs with a rhythm she’s never known before.

When they’re both sufficiently spent, watching the sky grow lighter and lighter through the balcony door, she thinks of the life she thought she’d live. She gave marriage a try, thought better of it once it ended disastrously. With time, she grew to accept the idea of living in a huge glass house by the sea and no one to share it with while the media lament her faded beauty. In the last few years, she’d felt resigned to that fate, going through the motions. Tonight feels like a dangerous deviation from the path that’s been carved for her and now that she’s had a taste, she wants more.

“Where to next?” she whispers roughly.

He groans at the sleepy sound of her voice, the feel of her breath against his ear. Still, Steve fights the heaviness of his eyelids so he can gaze over at her. “Anywhere and everywhere, if you want…Zinone.”

She laughs as she presses a soft kiss to his lips before settling on his chest, ready to sleep the day away with him. There still isn’t much certainty in her life, let alone her future. The one thing she does know for sure is the world has never felt so simultaneously small and safe yet big and limitless before this, before _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: The very next day, Natasha fires Ivan and most of her team. She thinks to rebuild, but not before taking a little hiatus, traveling, figuring out what she wants. Four months later, Natasha attends a wedding in Brooklyn. No NDRs necessary. She learns that Sarah Rogers is the only person on earth who can get Steve to shave his stubble clean off (for family pictures Sarah insists Natasha be apart of), no argument whatsoever.


	7. Soulmates AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous: "Romanogers soulmate au?"
> 
> Ran with the "when you meet your soulmate you see color for the first time" because, why not?
> 
> Steve Rogers meets his soulmate. In an ice cream shop. Only problem is she doesn't believe in soulmates.

He didn’t know ice cream could be so colorful until the day he walked into a little unassuming ice cream shop and met his soulmate. 

_Met_ might be a bit of an overstatement. 

She works at the ice cream shop. _Natasha_ is the name on her gold plate clipped to her shirt. Her work shirt is white and collared. The apron she wears over it is striped red and white. Her hair is like fire and her eyes like the ocean, but only on the clearest, most beautiful day. _She_ is beautiful and the moment he sees her, it’s like waking up from a dream where you’re falling, dropping into a world of color. It’s jarring, life-changing, but by her reaction, or, well, non-reaction, it seems to be one-sided. 

Maybe Natasha had treated him like any other customer because he was with Sharon. They had just finished dinner and he suggested ice cream, hoping ice cream could give them a break from trying to fill the awkward silence. He had known from the start that Sharon wasn’t his soulmate, but he still asked her out. After all, just because someone isn’t the one in billions made for you doesn’t mean you shouldn’t spend time together, make connections. At least, that’s what that tactless jerk Sam said, practically pushing him out the door so he and his soulmate could have the apartment to themselves for the evening.

She treated him like any other customer so he acted like any other customer. Steve had ordered his ice cream, deviated from his usual butter pecan and ordered mint chocolate chip because he liked the color and he couldn’t wait to take a trip to the art story and find that exact shade of green. Sharon ordered vanilla and spent their entire time in there, defending vanilla (“It’s reliable and always available, unlike most men I meet.”), and Steve pays attention, thoroughly amused, but stole glances at the redhead behind the counter until she went on break and the room remained colorful, but colder. 

After that night, Steve goes back to the ice cream shop almost every day. Every day she’s working, of course. He doesn’t go in just to stare at her. That would be rude. Instead, he works his way through the ice cream flavors, the more colorful the better. 

Cotton Candy. Rainbow Sherbet. Daiquiri Ice. Lemon Custard. 

This one called “Love Potion” that he thinks is chocolate and raspberry. (He turns red as he orders it and Natasha is nothing, but professional. Her coworker on the other hand, _Darcy_ according to her name tag, smiles knowingly, viciously, so either they talk about him or she’s met her soulmate and sees the color in his cheeks.)

He finds he likes pistachio. Still on the fence regarding this red, white and blue mix of sherbets called Captain America, which he thinks is probably a seasonal special, it being July. Boy, he can’t wait to see the fireworks in color. 

On July 4th, Steve can’t decide what flavor he’d like to try and he’s aware a line is forming behind him. It’s a hot day and people want their ice cream. Natasha is on the other side of the counter, trying to act as professional as she always is, but he seems to be testing her patience. Is the shop warmer than usual or is the heat just on him?

“I think…no.” Steve hums and he sees her frustration, feels it in the way she’s staring at him. He really shouldn’t be thinking how cute she is when she’s annoyed, especially when he can feel the people in line behind him growing antsy. Darcy races around behind Natasha and tries to help out as many as she can, slinging out ice cream cones and blending shakes with no help from her coworker. “Maybe… What’s the red in the, um, Captain America?” 

“Cherry,” Natasha says bitingly. “The red is cherry. The white is vanilla and the blue is raspberry, which you know because you’ve gotten it three times in the last month.” She takes an exasperated breath and adds, “Sir.” 

“I’ll take two scoops of that,” Steve says with a sheepish smile. He’s sure to add a, “Please.” 

She makes this exasperated grumble, but he’s pretty sure he sees the hint of a smile as she reaches for a waffle cone without even having to ask. It’s a given. They remind him of his mother. She would take him to this very shop when he was young and she was a big fan of the waffle cone. They’ve tried to spruce the place up a bit, modernize it to keep up with the times, but the waffle cone still taste the same as when he was a kid. 

Steve takes his ice cream, strolls around the boardwalk and sits in the sand for a bit, people-watching as he does. Not a bad birthday. He’s meeting the gang for drinks and inevitable embarrassment later, but it’s just been him so far today. Honestly, this is all he wanted for today, visit to his mom, a little sun and time to himself on the beach, a little ice cream, seeing her. 

“I know what you’re doing.” 

Steve almost choked when he sees a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and there she is. _Natasha_. Hair wild in the breeze, kicking off her shoes and sinking down beside him in the sand. Seeing her out here, outside of the ice cream shop, in the sun and how her eyes appear even brighter, is mesmerizing. It almost doesn’t feel real. He forgets how to speak and there’s that little smile of hers she’s so set on fighting. 

“You keep coming around because you think I’m your soulmate,” she continues when he doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything. “I’ll save you the money and the diabetes, I don’t believe in soulmates so you can stop.” 

Steve’s eyebrows fly up and he finally closes his mouth. “So you’re saying the world didn’t explode into color when I walked into the shop?”

“Explode into color? Are you always this dramatic?” 

“Is that a yes or a no?” 

Natasha looks out over the waves while Steve can’t stop looking at _her_. “It did.” Steve nearly jumps and punches the air at the confirmation. “ _But_ I don’t think that means we’re made for each other necessarily.” 

Steve chuckles, can’t believe this girl and how stubborn she apparently is. Of course, his soulmate would be just as stubborn as he is. Steve rests his cheek in the palm of his hand as he studies her. “Then what is it supposed to mean?”

With a shrug and a flick of her wrist, she counters, “Does it have to mean anything?”

She sounds like one of his art teachers or critique partners, making him smile. 

“Philosophy major?” he asks.

“I dabbled.” Her eyes sweep over him from head to toe, from his broad shoulders straining the material of his t-shirt to the red belt slung around his trim, hotly disproportionate waist. “Body builder?”

“Dirt poor art student,” Steve says, with a proud little smirk. “Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t believe in the soulmate business. I don’t exactly have the means to whisk you away from the ice cream shop, but I could buy you dinner?”

“Smooth.” She tilts her head, purses her lips and her hair is everywhere and just gorgeous. “I’m working, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“No, yeah, I don’t expect you to drop everything for me. It’s actually my birthday and I’m supposed to meet some friends tonight, but if you wanted to do something after your shift, I’d have no problem cancelling on them for you.”

Natasha laughs lightly, shaking her head. “This is crazy. You don’t even know me. The only reason you know my name is because I wear it on my uniform. I don’t even know your name and that doesn’t seem to matter. I feel…” She looks away, fighting it, and it just makes Steve even more eager to prove her wrong. 

“My name is Steve. Steve Rogers. If that helps.” 

He wishes she could see the way she smiles just at the sound of his name and maybe she would believe. Not that he minds a disbeliever. He’s got a stubborn streak miles long and if she’s got one to match…

“Don’t cancel on your friends,” Natasha insists, smoothing her fingers through her hair, pushing it back and away from her face. “We supposedly have forever, right?” She rolls her eyes and her voice is pure sarcasm, but the soft yet _intense_ way she looks at him… Gosh. He forgets his words again and she laughs to herself. “I need to get back…”

“Ice cream,” Steve says when he finally finds his voice. _Really, Rogers?_

“Yes. Ice cream.” Her eyes move from his eyes to his lips and she bites hers. “This is crazy…”

“Crazy enough to give it a shot?” 

“I’m crashing your birthday party, aren’t I?” 

The smile that spreads across his face is out of control. “It’s at this bar in Brooklyn. Hogan’s.”

“I’ve been there,” Natasha says. “They have the best—”

“Hot wings,” he says just as she says, “Imported vodka.” 

“So, we aren’t a carbon copy of each other,” Steve says with an embarrassed laugh. He’s heard that one a couple of times over the years. That your soulmate is perfect for you, will love all the things you love and hate all the things you hate. Steve remembers quietly hoping that isn’t true because, _how boring_. “Can’t say I’ve ever drank vodka.” 

“Oh, Steve. We’re going to have to change that.” She brings her hand up to his face, her touch feather-like and almost hesitant. The second her skin touches his, Steve feels a jolt deep inside, like a magnet yanking him to her. “If your face turns all red ordering ice cream, I can’t wait to see you three shots in.”

“Only one way to, right?” he asks, and if it sounds like a challenge it’s because it sort of is. She definitely strikes him as a girl who doesn’t back down. “So you’ll come by? I’ll be there all night. Drinks, wings, maybe catch the fireworks on the roof?”

“I’d like that. For now, I should probably get back to work.” Natasha stands, but hesitates for a second, then she’s swooping down to press a kiss to the top of his head and the feeling that shoots through his entire body is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Even Natasha looks surprised, felt it too, whispers, “Happy Birthday, Steve Rogers.” 

Steve licks his lips as he watches her walk back to the boardwalk and when he finally finds his tongue, he shouts after her, “Ice cream looks better in color, doesn’t it?”

Natasha glances at him from over her shoulder, looking like some sort of mirage too stunning to be real. “Tastes better too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: And when he’s sitting on a rooftop experiencing fireworks in color for the first time in his life, Steve’s eyes aren’t on the sky. They’re on _her_.


	8. Reality TV Show AU: Bachelor & Producer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After twelve wildly successful seasons, four of which she’s worked on, you’d think Natasha has learn the most important rule of working in reality television. A rule so obvious it isn’t even spoken of or considered because only an idiot would ever be so stupid. 
> 
> Don’t fall in love with the guy you’re throwing women at on a daily basis. 
> 
> Then Steve Rogers comes along.

There’s a reason people in the industry refer to her as the Black Widow. Her particular set of skills is the reason she’s responsible for one of the highest rated and longest running reality dating shows in the history of television. She knows how to get people to trust her, to forget about the cameras filming their seemingly innocent conversation and then she slashes their throats once the episode airs and they’re portrayed in some half-true degrading way in front of millions nation-wide and loved ones at home. Natasha Romanoff is the best there is and she is damn proud. 

After twelve wildly successful seasons, four of which she’s worked on, you’d think Natasha has learned the most important rule of working in reality television. A rule so obvious it isn’t even spoken of or considered because only an idiot would ever be so stupid. 

Don’t fall in love with the guy you’re throwing women at on a daily basis. 

Then Steve Rogers comes along. 

In the beginning, Natasha had serious doubts about choosing a human puppy to be their next bachelor. He definitely has the look—chiseled jaw, gentle blue eyes, a body that puts Roman sculptures to shame—guaranteed to make women wet, both on set and back home glued to their TVs. At the same time, he’s an Army vet, Captain America, a perfect gentleman and definitely the type you’d want to bring home to mom. 

There’s nothing wrong with Steve. It was just hard to imagine a season all about the All American Man topping last season. Billionaire playboy, Tony Stark, had been their bachelor and ratings skyrocketed when the woman he chose turned out to be an undercover reporter that he ditched at the final rose ceremony to propose to his longtime assistant, Pepper Potts. Stark had a natural knack for making his own drama, which made Natasha’s job so much easier and more fun, if she’s being honest. Steve Rogers is too perfect; thus, a project. 

Natasha’s walkie talkie crackles with static. Then a voice, their showrunner, the no nonsense Melinda May’s voice, bellows at top volume. “Romanoff! Rogers is MIA again. After everything he’s put us through, you’d think the least he can do is stay put. Romanoff, fix him!”

Natasha stares down at her lunch she hasn’t even touched. 

“Ignore her,” Maria suggests, biting into a crisp red apple. She’s a fellow field producer and just as damn good at it. “Better yet, tell May to go fuck herself. She could probably use it.” 

“I like having a job, thank you very much.” 

“Showrunner’s pet,” Maria says playfully. 

Underneath it all, there’s a part of Natasha that suspects she isn’t in it just because it pays her bills. There’s a part of her that really enjoys her work, needs it, like a drug. Some nights, when she’s just getting back from set and pouring into bed, she tries to imagine what she would be doing if she wasn’t a producer. She comes up empty every single time. Natasha sends her croissant one last crestfallen look before yanking the walkie talkie from her belt and speaking into it. “Black Widow in pursuit.” 

Wanda is the PA assigned to know Steve’s every move. This is her first real gig, fresh out of high school and though there’s a spark of potential in her, she’s as green as green can be. It’s no surprise a decorated war vet manages to sneak off on her watch, oh, once a day since shooting began. Wanda apologizes profusely and Natasha tells her she isn’t fired, but she’s carful not to coddle the girl either. Lord knows May didn’t baby Natasha or Maria when she gave them their first big break.

The first place she checks is the ensuite connected to the bachelor’s master bedroom. There aren’t any cameras or recording devices in there. That’s the first thing she told Steve on day one. She finds the ensuite empty, but the window is wide open. Natasha sighs, realizing where he is. She carefully climbs out the window of the mansion slash set, walks a little higher up the slanted roof and there’s Steve. More importantly, there’s Steve with a box of pizza open next to him. 

“Where did you even get that?” Natasha drops to her knees and helps herself to a slice. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I’m taking a slice and keeping my plausible deniability.” She takes a bite, the first bit of food she’s had all day. Can you blame her for the sound she makes? When she catches Steve smiling at her, she remembers her mission objective. “You know, if you fall off the roof, you can’t sue us, right? It’s in your contract.” 

“I know.” Steve looks out at the miles and miles of wilderness that separates their remote set from the rest of the world. Backlit by the sunset, he has a profile that belongs on promotional posters. “It’s also in my contract that I can’t have a cell phone, no contact with the outside world and I have to strip off my shirt once an episode.” 

“Like it’s hard,” Natasha teases, between bites. “So, why are you hiding out?” 

Steve looks from her face to the crackling walkie talkie on her belt and raises an eyebrow. Jerk. That’s her move. Natasha sucks a bit of tomato sauce off her thumb before switching her walkie off completely. It’s crazy how quickly he relaxes, how easily he trusts. She could have another recording device on her and he doesn’t even suspect a thing. She doesn’t, but that’s not the point. It’s like he hasn’t learned anything since day one.

“Maria said I’ll be flying to meet the girls’ families?” Steve furrows his brow. “Sharon’s from D.C. We leave first thing in the morning.” Right. Maria has some dastardly plan to boost the drama with that, one she has neglected to share, one Natasha hasn’t pushed for details on because, well, plausible deniability. “This is moving too fast. I-I’ve never met a girl’s family before. Not one I was interested in and Sharon, she’s nice, they’re all nice, but…” 

He’s wrong, but it’s cute he thinks that. 

“Steve.” She really wants to reach for another slice of pizza, but she can’t watch him unravel any more than he already has. Instead, Natasha lays her hand over his and meets his eyes, hoping to offer him even a fraction of what he needs. “Remember what I told you day one?” 

“That I’m naive and these women were going to eat me alive.” 

“True. I said that. And from what I’ve seen, I haven’t been wrong.” Natasha gives him a teasing smile and when he smiles back, she figures she earned a second slice of pizza. “I also said, don’t lose sight of the point of all this. You came on the show to rehab your public image and, hey, maybe meet a nice girl while doing it.” 

His jaw tenses and there’s that trademark stubbornness of his crashing the party, right on time. “None of this was my idea. I was fine with my public image.” 

“You punched a guy on national television.” 

“No, I punched a nazi on national television,” Steve corrects her. “S’ different.” Natasha nods as she chews another bite of pizza. Steve goes back to staring out in front of him, a thoughtful look on his face. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but Tony was right. Doing this stupid show has kind of been the best and worst experience of my life…” 

Natasha crinkles her nose at the thought of anyone admitting Tony Stark is right about anything ever. Steve really is that nice of a guy. “Ah, see, I knew part of you didn’t find beautiful women flinging themselves at you to be such a burden. Not a complete waste of your time, right?” 

“Not completely,” he confesses. “I met you, didn’t I?”

She almost drops her pizza, which would be a shame because it’s good pizza. Just when she thinks she’s heard it all and seen it all in this business. This is a new one and it leaves her stunned. Sure, she’s had bachelors flirt with her and proposition her in past seasons, but this is different. The look on Steve’s face, hopeful to the point of being vulnerable, like he’s just handed her his heart. With her track record, she’d drop it much like she almost did with her pizza. 

“Steve, _no_.” 

He sighs and his eyes return to the horizon. “I come onto this show that’s all about meeting someone I’m attracted to and I did and now you’re saying I can’t?” 

“If you think that person is me, no, you can’t,” Natasha says firmly. “And this show is not about ‘meeting someone.’ We basically dress up a guy in desperate need of good PR to be some prince charming and throw princesses at him until one sticks. Our audience, predominantly wine-drinking women, eat this stuff up because, well, society spoon-feeds us romantic crap when we’re young and tricks us into thinking we should want it. And occasionally, they’re made to feel better about their lives when every week one princess gets screwed over. And you know who does the screwing over.” 

“See, like that,” Steve says. “You’re the only person here who talks to me like I’m a real person, who’s real with me.” 

“It’s natural for some level of attachment to form since you’re so isolated from your friends and family and I’m…here—”

“Natasha…” 

“Steve, none of this is real. None of it! The lake is man-made and practically the size of a bath tub—thank god for camera angles. We manipulate you into kicking off the girl we want kicked off every week with the power of suggestion. That horseback riding ‘date’ you went on, we had body doubles in all the long shots. None of this is real and once the show is over and you’re back in the real world, back to your life, you’ll realize that.” 

He has that stubborn look in his eyes again, but Natasha can be just as stubborn when she wants to be. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Steve confesses with an exhale. “I’m tired.” 

“I know. I know. You just have to get through it, okay?” She brings her fingers up through his soft blonde hair and he leans into her touch. “Choose Sharon, do the whole talk show circuit—also required in your contract—and when the high of all of this finally fades, if you both agree you’d rather not, we’ll already have a new bachelor and a new season rolling and no one will care if you and Sharon ‘break up’ or whatever.” 

Steve stares down at his lap and nods his head, but that flex in his jaw tells her he isn’t quite as onboard as he wants her to believe. “And when do I get to see you after all of this?” 

“Steve…” 

They have never talked about it, but it’s sure implied that they don’t see each other ever again. 

“You have to let me buy you dinner _at least_ ,” Steve insists, and there’s that boyish smile of his. “Real or not real, you kept me sane through all of this. That has to count for something, Nat.” 

She shouldn’t. She’s horrible. It’s her job to befriend and manipulate and betray and embarrass. She’s horrible and she’s accepted that about herself and she found a way to use it to pay her bills and feed her cat, to survive. And Steve is so noble and kind and _good_. He shouldn’t want anything to do with someone like her. 

“You know,” Steve starts, when it’s clear Natasha isn’t about to say anything. “I was talking to Clint—” Clint Barton, a camera man whose precise eye and talent is wasted on trash TV, who also happens to be Natasha’s best friend that got her an interview with May in the first place. “—Clint told me that his wife, Laura, was a contestant on the show a few seasons back and that’s how they met.” 

Natasha shrugs casually. “It isn’t exactly news the cast and crew all sleep around, especially with each other, more than two to a bed or the back of an equipment van. You wouldn’t believe some of the things we’ve caught on film in that hot tub.” The way this grown man blushes like a little school boy never gets old. Clint and Laura got together before Natasha joined the crew, but she’s familiar with the story. “Clint and Laura are the exception in that they didn’t hook up until way after the season ended.”

If Clint is filling their bachelor’s head with all this…Natasha’s going to kill him. 

“And now they have a kid and they chose you to be his godmother.” 

“Don’t worry, like four other people have to die before Cooper would be left in my custody. I’m here so much my cat hates me. I can’t imagine having to take care of a kid.” 

“I don’t know. I think it’d make a pretty good reality show.” 

He’s looking at her with a bit of a crooked smile and she feels the need to smile back in her cheeks, but does her best to resist. Natasha takes the now empty pizza box and flings it like a frisbee. Steve makes a little impressed sound when the pizza box lands in the dumpster below them. Natasha wipes her hands on her tight, black jeans and carefully stands up, looking at Steve from over her shoulder. 

“Come on,” she urges him on. “I need to get you back.” When he doesn’t budge, Natasha sighs and holds her hand out to him. Steve smiles up at her, gets to his feet and slips his hand in hers as they walk along the rooftop. 

“Will I see you tonight?” Steve asks, once they’re both safely back in his bathroom and before she switches her walkie back on. He sounds so timid as he asks and Natasha knows she should be counting herself lucky that he can turn on that Captain America golden boy charm in front of a camera. She knows she should count herself lucky he shows her this side of him, the real him. 

“Did you not hear the part about my cat who despises me because I’m barely around?” Natasha asks, mostly to buy herself time to think. “Not to mention, last time, we stayed up till four in the morning swapping embarrassing Tony stories, we had to film your two on one body painting date that day. I drank like three Red Bulls to get through it.” 

He blushes again at the memory, but he has nothing to be embarrassed about. He looked amazing in his tiny swim trunks (someone ordered the wrong size, oops), covered in red, white and blue paint, even though his dates, Kristen and Lilian, have no artistic ability whatsoever. “Come on…” He threads his fingers through hers. “If you liked the pizza, you’ll love my favorite shawarma place. I’ll send Sam to pick it up.” 

Ah-ha! That’s how he’s getting food that isn’t craft services. Sam Wilson. Everyone’s best friend and favorite PA. Should’ve known. And there goes her plausible deniability.

“Please?” Steve asks, and he’s doing that entirely too earnest thing again. “Maybe this time we can trade embarrassing Natasha stories for embarrassing Steve stories?”

“Impossible.” She tilts her chin up defiantly. “I don’t have any embarrassing stories.” 

“Really? Why do I feel like Clint or Sam or even Tony would disagree?”

“Don’t you dare ask around or you’ll get it, Rogers.” She presses a hand to his impossibly firm chest. Over the course of the last few weeks, she has seen him shirtless too many times to count so she knows what’s right under her hand, under his ridiculously tight t-shirt that Maria also ordered a size too small because protocol and yum. 

Steve grins and leans in until he’s pressing her against the glass shower and the only reason she lets him is because she knows every single camera located on set and the one in his bedroom doesn’t point into the bathroom. They’re practically invisible. And it feels pretty damn good. She can feel the warmth radiating off of him as he leans in. 

Her hand finds his cheek, tracing down the stubble on his jaw and smiling at the memory that comes with it. “You need to shave first thing in the morning. As stated in your contract.”

He grunts, pressing his hips into hers. “I’m really starting to hate that contract.”

She caresses his jaw again, remembering the full beard he showed up with on day one. Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap, that rugged lumberjack beard and a frown. The frown only got worse when Wanda handed him electric clippers and said, if his face wasn’t clean-shaven in twenty minutes, May would have the crew hold him down so she could do it herself. Steve threatened to walk off and that’s when May sent Natasha in. She brought him a can of shaving cream and a spiel about image and how they need boy next door, not woodsman at your service. He wasn’t convinced, gave her that stubborn look, so she dropped the act and said if he shaved, she’d let him use her phone for an hour. Steve agreed and that’s how they had ended up talking all night and explains how she’s getting caught up in one of her own webs. 

Natasha almost moans when his lips ghost up her neck. “Steve, you…you shouldn’t trust me…”

“Too late, Natasha.” He presses a wet, suckling kiss right over her pulse. “I already do.”

And she gives up. She gives in. Natasha guides his mouth to hers and kisses him deeply, frantically. He’s hot, hard, responsive, and giving himself to her so beautifully. She wraps her arms around his neck and when his big hands grip the meat of her thighs, hoisting her up, she wraps her legs around his waist as he presses her more firmly against the glass door of the shower. Fuck, he tastes good and feels good and if she knew it would be this good, she would have kissed him that first night. To hell with the rules. To hell with the show. To hell with anything and everything apart from Steve Rogers’ lips and his hands and the little sound he makes when they part for heaving breaths. 

“So tonight?” he asks. “I’ll leave my door unlocked. We can talk.” 

“Talk. Sure.” She takes his chin, a bit possessive with her grip and gives him a slow, indulgent kiss to seal the deal. 

They try to keep it discrete for the rest of production. Natasha doesn’t give anything away and no one would actually question Steve on it. There is the fact that Wanda has witnessed them flirting and openly said she won’t say anything if he stops going MIA. Sam gives them knowing little smiles when he finds himself at all of Natasha’s favorite spots when Steve asks him to go on food runs. And their editor, Scott, straight up teases Natasha about Steve’s habit of glancing her way in the middle of filming and the extra hours he spends editing footage to make it look like Steve’s making eyes at the girls he should be making eyes at. Natasha tells them all to fuck off, but buys them donuts and coffee because she’s a loving producer. May flat out tells her, when her contract ends and they restructure, it will explicitly state _no falling in love with the bachelor_. Maria snorts with laughter when she overhears that and Natasha finally cracks a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS:
> 
> “Sharon is having a great time in Tahiti. She wants me to tell you she doesn’t miss fake flirting with you at all.” Natasha tosses the postcard aside and walks into her bedroom to find Steve reclining in bed, wearing just his boxers. Liho sits on his chest and paws at his abs, downright fascinated. “What did I tell you about letting her walk all over you, Rogers?” 
> 
> “Her owner treats me about the same so I figured…” 
> 
> “Mhmm, shut up.” Natasha turns out the light and Liho takes it as her cue to make herself comfortable at the foot of the bed. As she settles in, Natasha looks at the TV, where the show’s newest bachelor, a god with long, flowing blond hair, is showing one of the girls how to use a hammer. “Thor has Sam going on Pop Tart runs at all hours of the night and he gets overly excited and breaks whatever poor glass he’s holding like, once a day.” 
> 
> “He looks like he’s having fun. Did I look like I was having that much fun?”
> 
> “Never. Live-tweeters referred to you as hashtag hot grandpa.” Natasha scoots closer, dropping her arm across his belly as she looks up at him. “You miss it, don’t you?” Steve presses his lips into a firm line and shakes his head. “Come on. A little?” 
> 
> “No. Okay, maybe a little?” Steve confesses in the mostly dark room, the light from the TV illuminating his face. “I miss hanging out with you all day. That’s for sure.” 
> 
> “Good.” Natasha hugs him around his middle and closes her eyes like she’s moments away from falling asleep. “Because I promised May you’d go back on the show for an episode, host a pool party and pick the girl Thor goes on a solo date with.” 
> 
> “Natasha!” 
> 
> “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you which girl to pick. All I need you to do is squeeze into those teeny tiny swim shorts America loves seeing you in and essentially, look pretty.” 
> 
> He huffs and weaves his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp in a way that feels amazing after a long day on set. “You’re lucky I love you.” 
> 
> Steve drops a kiss to the top of her head and Natasha isn’t quite sure how she got so lucky. After the life she’s lived and the things she’s done, it makes zero sense for her to be living this stable, incredible life, but now that she has it, she’ll use every one of her skills to fight to keep it.


	9. Detectives (B99) AU AKA Undercover Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury assigns Sam and Bucky to tail and arrest with Steve and Natasha in the surveillance van as backup. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous. "I love your Romanogers AU collection! I don't know if you watch it, but I can please request a Brooklyn 99 AU for our favourite pair? Or just like, detectives AU? :D"
> 
> This feels OOC to me at times, but I was going for B99 and I was trying to keep it light so. Heavily based off of 02x23 "Johnny and Dora" like, it's basically the same concept, except in this case it's "Kyle and Francesca." Eat me alive...

Steve hears about Natasha Romanoff long before he meets her. 

She started out as a beat cop and rose up in the ranks over the years, dazzling the 9-3 with a stellar arrest number and an even more impressive conviction rate. They worked a joint case once and Steve had expected her to be this wildly beautiful hardass with a woman-in-a-boy’s-club chip on her shoulder. He was right and wrong. He did find her wildly beautiful and damn good at her job, but also quiet, unassuming and the most impressive person he’s ever met. Once they closed the case, Steve spent a lot of time kicking himself for not asking her out for a drink after. 

Then she’s transferred to the 9-9 and the desk right next to Steve’s. 

“Well.” Natasha flashes Steve this smile that’s all teeth. “If it isn’t my favorite All American dick.” 

If he were mid-sip of his morning coffee, he probably would have spat it out and sprayed half the bullpen. Instead, Steve scoffs playfully and tells himself she’s just being friendly, _teasing_ because she’s a sadist like that. A beautiful, ultra intelligent sadist. “Romanoff, no one calls detectives that anymore.”

“Who said I was referring to your job, Rogers?” 

Another smile and then she’s across the room, talking to Captain Fury, and they look to be discussing something serious. Like she flipped a switch within a matter of seconds. And, man, can she wear the hell out of a two button jacket and fitted, ankle length trousers. All black, of course. There’s a glint in Fury’s eyes like he’s already proud to call her 9-9. Only further emphasized by the way he looks around the room like just the sight of the rest of them piss him off. It’s the warmest welcome he’s ever seen from Fury.

It doesn’t take long for Steve and Natasha to transition into their new partnership. They bust up drug deals and haul in purse snatchers, work together to pursue leads and question witnesses. Steve learns early on that she likes to play the bad cop to his good cop and it’s totally fine by him. Honestly, it’s kind of fun to watch her use a man’s insecurities and her carefully crafted words to get the information they need. And they finally get that drink at a bar the whole department frequents after work, but it’s with Bucky and Sam and the rest of the squad. 

Steve prides himself on his professionalism, if nothing else. There are moments he thinks she could be flirting with him, but they work together now, they’re _partners_ , so he just smiles and changes the subject to something work related or whatever dumb thing Sam and Bucky are bickering about now, something safe. And she just keeps looking at him with that smile and those green eyes like she’s biding her time and, man, does Steve pity any man who thinks he could ever pull a fast one on her. 

Tonight they’re assisting Bucky and Sam with a case that’s stretched on for months. A CI, Peter Quill, whispered to them about a drop-off that’s supposed to go down tonight. Some Hammer Tech that was supposedly stolen and up for the highest bidder. Fury assigns Sam and Bucky to tail and arrest with Steve and Natasha in the surveillance van as backup. What could go wrong? 

“What were you thinking, man?” Sam barks at Bucky as he drives the van, one hand on the steering wheel and the other cutting through the air in some exaggerated hand gesture. “You don’t answer another man’s phone! Especially when it’s his mama calling!” 

“I was taught never to leave a woman waiting,” Bucky replies, sitting beside him in the front seat. Steve scoffs from where he’s sitting right behind Bucky, next to Natasha. “What’s your problem, Wilson? _Darlene loves me_.” 

“Don’t you dare talk about my mama like that!” 

“Wilson, slow down,” Natasha hisses from over his shoulder. He knows she means his driving and he does as he’s told. “I know this is like your _bit_ , and I enjoy Barnes insinuating he’s slept with your mother as much as everyone else in the 9-9—”

“No one,” Steve interjects. “No one enjoys that.” 

“—But look, he’s stopping.” 

The he in question is their perp, Brock Rumlow, goes by Crossbones on the streets. He’s ex-military, as mean and shady as they come. Not to mention, he’s a slippery son of a bitch. No matter what they try to pin on him, no matter how right they are about his crimes, Rumlow always manages to walk free. They watch from across the street as Rumlow turns his SUV over to valet, holding a chrome briefcase. No, not suspicious at all. A blonde woman in a sinfully red dress approaches him and they share a sloppy kiss. 

“What’s he doing?” Steve asks. “Drop-off’s supposed to be at the park.” 

“Drop-offs can wait,” Bucky says. “Ladies first. See, Wilson, even a hardened criminal who’s done serious time treats his side piece better than you treat your mom.” 

“That’s a low blow, Barnes. I wouldn’t leave my plums in the break room fridge anymore if I was you.” 

“How do we know the ‘side piece’ isn’t the buyer or an accomplice?” Natasha asks. “Maybe there was a change of plans.” 

“Right,” Steve agrees. “We need eyes in there.” 

“We’ve hauled Rumlow in enough times, he knows our faces,” Bucky says, motioning between him and Sam. “If he sees either of us, it’ll spook him, for sure. You two need to get in there.” 

“Might I remind you that Steve sucks at undercover work?” Sam pipes up. “Sorry, Steve, but you do.” 

“That’s what he has me for,” Natasha says confidently. “The place looks pretty fancy.” She flings off her jacket and starts to undo the buttons of her shirt. “Eyes forward, gentlemen.” 

Bucky tries to look back at her on instinct and Steve anticipates it, grabbing his childhood friend’s chin and turns him to make sure he faces forward. When Steve gets hit in the face by Natasha’s shirt, which smells magnificent, even he’s tempted to peek, but his own mom raised him to be better than that. 

“Done,” Natasha announces. “Barnes, Wilson, cover the exits while we’re in there.”

“Damn, girl!” Sam exclaims when he turns around and sees Natasha in a little black dress, tearing the elastic from her hair so it falls in waves around her face. “Did you just whip that dress outta nowhere?” 

“A dedicated detective always comes prepared.” Natasha rummages through a box of miscellaneous junk in the back of the van. “There must be something…A-ha!” 

There’s that sharp smile again as she tosses a suit jacket at Steve along with a pair of hipster hot librarian glasses. The jacket is two sizes too small and he has to wear the glasses low on the bridge of his nose because everything is a blur when he looks through the damn things. As uncomfortable as he is, Natasha takes his arm to cross the street at a leisurely pace and her calm is soothing. 

“Steve, it’s just surveillance. Nothing to stress about.” Natasha hugs his arm. “Just pretend you’re a normal guy out to dinner with his girl. You can do that for me, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he even sounds breathless to himself. “Simple. Easy.” 

They walk in to the elegant restaurant with its low lighting and a soft harp playing in the corner. As they approach the host stand, Steve bumps into Rumlow, who’s waiting to be seated. Rumlow sizes him up with a sneer. “Watch it.” The mean look on his face folds all of a sudden and Rumlow laughs. “Where the fuck do you shop? The Midget Factor?” 

Steve tenses, realizing Rumlow is talking to him and laughing at him with no regard for his choice of words or maybe he knew exactly what he was saying. Natasha’s grip on his arm tightens and it stops Steve from saying or doing anything. He settles for clenching his jaw tight and putting his hand over hers in the crook of his elbow. 

“Sorry about that,” Natasha says meekly. Steve feels she shouldn’t have to and he wants to tell her that, but he knows she’s playing the part and he knows he has to play his too. 

“Don’t mind him,” the blonde woman says. “Alvey gets a little grumpy when he’s angry.” 

Alvey, huh? Either she doesn’t know who he really is or she knows and is helping to cover for him. Before they can poke around even more, a server arrives to show Rumlow and his lady friend to their table. 

Natasha drags Steve up to the host stand with a big smile. “Table for two please.” 

The girl behind the stand, whose name tag reads Beth, doesn’t even look up from the ledger open in front of her. “I’m sorry, but we’re only seating reservations tonight. No walk-ins.”

“Oh, shoot! But, you see, we just got engaged.” Natasha extends her hand forward to show off the gigantic diamond engagement ring on her proper finger. Steve’s eyes go wide before he can control his reaction. Beth’s eyes widen as well and she squeals for him. Natasha takes it as an open door so she walks right through and goes on. “And this restaurant is where we had our first date. It would be _so_ perfect if we could have dinner here and celebrate tonight. Please?” Natasha hugs his bicep and idly rubs his chest with her free hand. Undercover work has never felt so good. “My Cake Pop and I would really appreciate it.” 

“Please, Beth?” Steve covers Natasha’s hand with his and gives it a squeeze, making sure the ring is visible and catching the light beautifully. “It’s for the love of my life.” 

Steve is going for pleading with his facial expression and should probably make an effort to remember this one because Beth melts immediately. That could come in handy in the future. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Natasha leads him off to the side of the waiting area as Beth speaks with a coworker. Steve can’t help, but lean in until his lips nearly touch Natasha’s ear. “Cake Pop?”

She spins so they’re face to face and there’s that smile he will never tire of. “Because how do they make those things anyway? They’re just so delicious!” 

Steve groans and turns his eyes up to the ceiling. “Natasha, I asked you that _once_ without thinking. Nathaniel wasn’t even born yet. That was a whole unborn Barton ago. Are you really going to hold that against me for the rest of my life?” 

“If you can’t keep up, Rogers…” She smooths her hands over his shoulders and he’s keenly aware of how she has to tippy toe to press a kiss to his cheek. “…You might be in the wrong business.” 

She stays up on the tips of her toes with her arms around his neck so she can look over his shoulder and into the dining room, where Rumlow’s back is to them. Steve really needed that reminder that they’re on the clock and no matter how…nice it feels, this is all just business to her. 

“Where did you get that ring anyway?” 

“If I didn’t come prepared, I wouldn’t be the best the 9-9 has to offer, would I?” 

“Excuse me.” Beth pops into view, a bit flushed like she’s afraid she’s ruining a moment between two lovers. “Thank you for waiting. I can seat you now.” 

Natasha takes his arm and wraps it around her waist as they make their way into the dining area. Surprise, surprise, they’re led right to a small table parallel to Rumlow and his date. Jackpot. 

“Christine Everhart from WHIH, the reporter,” Natasha whispers, as they draw closer. “That’s why she looks so familiar.” 

“Do you think she’s undercover too?” 

“We’re about to find out.”

Rumlow doesn’t even try to hide his long-suffering growl when he sees Steve pull out Natasha’s seat for her. Before she sits, Natasha strokes Steve’s clean-shaven face and the kiss she presses to the corner of his mouth is enough to make Steve feel faint. He really needs to get a grip, but this is the closest they’ve ever been, physically speaking, and it’s all for naught. 

“Public displays of affection make us, normal, modest folk wanna barf,” Rumlow says loudly. “Where’s the waiter? I want a new table.” 

Christine notices the glittering diamond ring as Natasha speaks to the server with exaggerated motions of her hand. “Well, isn’t that a piece of hardware. Congratulations!” Natasha blinks and looks to the blonde, playing the innocent card to a tee. “Gorgeous. I’m Erin Harkins, by the way.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Natasha says politely. “I’m Francesca Curtis and this is my fiancé, Kyle.” 

Steve tries to not make a face at that. Kyle? Does he look like a Kyle to her? 

“So how did you meet?” Christine asks. “I want to hear it all.” 

Rumlow groans irritably from across her and shoves a piece of bread into his mouth.

“Well,” Natasha begins, “we went to high school together…”

“I was puny and she dated my best friend,” Steve adds cheekily. It’s only a recurring nightmare of his, really. 

Natasha narrows her eyes at his improvisation that she didn’t pre-approved, and it makes Steve smile and relax into the situation a little. “It was high school,” Natasha continues. “Everyone dated everyone in high school. Anyway, we didn’t meet-meet, _meet-cute_ until after undergrad. I nannied for a neighbor of his and we…had an encounter in the hallway.” 

“ _You_ are a nanny?” Rumlow nods his head like, _yeah, I can see that_. Steve tenses at the way Rumlow is looking at her and he swears he can hear the seams of his jacket pushing maximum strain. “That sounds so porno.” 

“It was _so_ porno,” Natasha assures him, reaching across the table to tangle her fingers with Steve’s. Her hands are so soft, hands he’s seen take a gun apart in seconds and shove a perp up against a wall before handcuffing him. “And now here we are.” Her eyes meet Steve’s and they are smoldering. She really could be an actress and a great one, for sure. “In love.” 

Christine sighs, totally bought the story and turns to Steve, with such speed and intent it startles him. “How did you know she was _the one_ , Kyle?” 

Gosh. The woman is so clearly a reporter and can’t help herself with the line of questioning and intense delivery. She might be worse at this undercover stuff than Steve is. 

“Well, I, uh, um…” Okay, no, Steve still might be worse. He feels Natasha’s fingers squeeze around his, grounding, reassuring. He can do this. “The first time I saw her. In that, uh, hallway.”

It was a crime scene, actually. Yellow tape. Broken window. Her hair was up in a bun with little wavy tendrils escaping and he remembers wondering what she looked like with her hair completely down, under sunlight with the breeze combing through it…maybe on a beach…in a bikini…with him. 

“Tried to play it cool,” Steve continues. “Didn’t want her to think I was a big dork.” 

That’s true too. 

“But that’s my favorite thing about you, Cake Pop,” Natasha coos, then turns to Christine. “He had a mustard stain on his tie and called me _ma’am_.” Her thumb slides over the hills and valleys of his knuckles. “He’s kind of the best person I know.” 

“Pussy,” Rumlow mutters, and it brings the both of them out of their little super intense eye contact. 

“And he’s got a _great_ ass,” Natasha adds. She really doesn’t have to, but he quickly learned, that simple fact never really stops Natasha. 

Suddenly, Christine’s cell phone buzzes loudly and she starts to stand. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this.” She flashes Steve and Natasha a big, fake smile. “Enjoy your dinner and congratulations on your engagement. Any specific honeymoon destinations in mind?”

“New Jersey,” Steve blurts out. He fights so hard not to cringe. 

Christine gives them a bit of a weird look, covers it with a fake smile and waves. Once she walks off to a quieter part of the restaurant, Rumlow clears his throat and storms off, sure to take a hold of the chrome briefcase at his feet. “What’s taking so damn long to get my food…” 

“We should follow him,” Steve says. 

Her fingers continue to stroke his knuckles as she watches Rumlow make his way to the kitchen. Natasha tries to be as discrete as possible as she gets up with Steve a step behind. They linger in the narrow hallway where they have a good enough view of Rumlow shaking hands with a man in a chef’s coat. It’s hard to hear what they’re talking about over the clatter of dishes and shouting between the kitchen staff. Suddenly, Rumlow catches sight of them out of the corner of his eye and stops mid-sentence. 

Before Steve can even form a thought, Natasha takes his face in both her hands and kisses him. There’s maybe a moment of hesitation on his part, but then his hand is in her hair and the other on her hip. She lets out this little gasp when he yanks her flush against him with a little more force than he meant. As abrupt and as frantic as it began, the kiss is actually soft and slow and slick. When they pull away and Steve sees her eyes open and over his shoulder, he feels kind of stupid for closing his and losing himself a little in what clearly isn’t real. 

“Get a fucking room,” Rumlow mumbles as he shoulders pass them. 

“He still has the package and by the way he’s holding it, it still looks like there’s weight to it. I don’t think the drop-off went down,” Natasha observes, watching Rumlow meet Christine at the entrance of the restaurant and the two head for the door. “Rogers, we need to move.” 

Steve nods and leads the way out the back door, where Sam is waiting with the van. As Sam interrogates them, asking if the restaurant’s signature saltimbocca is as heavenly as advertised, they swing around and pick up Bucky, who has eyes on Rumlow waiting for his SUV at valet. Bucky leaps into the front seat and turns back to them, a comment on the tip of his tongue, but completely forgotten when he sees Steve and Natasha. 

“Not your shade, punk,” Bucky says. “Looked better on Romanoff when it wasn’t so smeary.” 

Sam whips his head around to look at the two of them. “Oh shit! You’re telling me I’ve been out here with the trash while you two were in there, slurping face over a candlelit dinner?” 

“He almost made us.” Steve takes off the hot librarian glasses and tosses them over his shoulder. “It was, you know…”

“Fake out make out,” Sam and Bucky say in scary unison. 

“Looks like there’s trouble in paradise.” Natasha directs their attention over to where Rumlow and Christine are screaming at each other in front of the restaurant. “Maybe our inspirational love story and glamorous honeymoon plans showed her she could have made better life choices, Kyle.” 

“Who the hell is Kyle?” Bucky asks. 

When a cameraman pops out of a news van and runs over to Christine, shoving a camera in Rumlow’s face, he reacts angrily and peels off in his SUV. 

“Rumlow is getting away!” Natasha shouts. “Wilson, either drive or move aside so I can.” 

“Okay, okay, damn, girl.” Sam focuses forward and take off, trying to be distant, but without losing him as they follow behind him. Right as Steve uses the silence to gather himself, get into detective head space, Sam just has to ask, “So…did you close your eyes? When you made out. Did you close your eyes? How many Mississippi’s?” 

“Not now, Sam,” Steve says firmly. 

“Um, then when?”

“Yeah, come on,” Bucky urges. “The 9-9 needs new gossip. I’m bored of everyone still stuck on the time I comforted a dead CI’s twin sister in the back of an unmarked cruiser. It was off the clock! And we’ve adjusted the sex pool on you two like three times now.” 

“Sex pool?” Steve asks quizzically. 

“The sex pool,” Sam reiterates. “You know, like a dead pool, but instead of predicted when someone’s gonna bite the big one, we bet on when you two will _finally_ bite…each other.” 

“I had money on your Fourth of July surprise birthday party at Stark’s beach house, but _someone—_ ” Bucky glares at Sam hard. “—just _had_ to walk in and announce breakfast was ready.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam says stubbornly. 

“You’re a goddamn cheat, Wilson! We should throw you outta the game. Believe me, I’ve petition Darcy, but doll refuses ‘cause she likes those chocolate chip cookies Darlene sends to work with you. Do you ever get tired of your ma saving your ass?”

“Oh hell no!” 

Steve looks between his friends, appalled. “What’s wrong with you two?” 

“Darcy the hot civilian administrator started it,” Bucky mutters. 

“Wilson, Rumlow’s pulling over,” Natasha points out. “Slow down.”

The surveillance van pulls up right behind Rumlow’s illegally parked SUV and they cut the lights. They watch from the window as Rumlow looks around suspiciously. He leaves the chrome briefcase against the bottom of a lamp post and looks around again before heading back to his SUV. 

“Barnes, Wilson, you two follow Rumlow,” Natasha directs, already kicking open the back door of the van. “Rogers and I will stay with the package.” 

“Roger that,” Barnes replies. 

Rumlow takes off down the street and the surveillance van follows right after him. Natasha takes Steve by the hand and with unhurried steps, they enter the park. It’s fairly late into the evening and there’s almost no one around. Natasha bats her eyes at Steve before meeting the eyes of an elderly man crossing their path as he walks his dog. He smiles and nods politely, probably thinking they’re just another couple out for a stroll on a humid night in the city. Back to their cover it seems. 

“Sorry about those guys,” Steve mutters. “That was so unbelievably unprofessional.” 

Natasha shrugs her shoulders. “They weren’t saying anything I wouldn’t expect from either of them. You don’t have to worry about shielding my delicate feminine ears.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“No?” Natasha raises an eyebrow and it isn’t fair that one human being can be that beautiful and that intimidating all at once. “Relax, _Kyle_. They’re my idiot friends too.” 

Steve does just that with a sigh, wrapping his arm around her and reeling her closer. “Francesca, I think it’s about time we got some new friends.” 

“Speaking of new friends…” 

Natasha steps forward and spins to face him, her arms wrapping around his waist. She nods to the lamppost just behind her, where Steve spots a bald man in a neat suit and wire frame glasses inching closer and closer to the briefcase. The man looks up and spots them. Steve runs with his first instinct, leaning down to kiss Natasha. It’s him initiating this time so of course it’s too out of nowhere and frantic. Nevertheless, her hands creep up his back as she kisses him with her eyes closed. Steve doesn’t have long to enjoy it because the bald man is reaching for the chrome briefcase and Steve is pulling away. 

Natasha turns as soon as their lips part, drawing her gun from her shoulder holster beneath her jacket. “NYPD! Freeze!”

“You are under arrest!” Steve draws his own gun and they hear the magnificent sound of the tiny suit jacket he doesn’t even know why he’s still wearing rip to shreds with the movement. 

And that’s how they catch the bad guy. 

The buyer, Jasper Sitwell, isn’t even in handcuffs before he starts insisting they can make a deal and he can give them names. Of course, Rumlow puts up more of a fight. He refuses to go out without guns blazing. There’s a car chase and gunfire, but finally, Bucky and Sam haul him into the precinct and are met with a round of applause. When Rumlow sees Steve and Natasha, badges proudly displayed on their belts, he kicks and curses all the way to a holding cell. 

Steve is ready to call it a night when he sees Natasha sitting at her desk. She’s watching something on her phone and it makes her smile. He has the arrest report under his arm and he was going to ask her to sign it tomorrow, but since they’re both here. He shuffles his feet as he walks up to her, sure to make enough noise as to not sneak up on her and suffer the consequences. 

“Hey, I’ve got the arrest report,” Steve says, placing the folder down in front of her. “All I need is your signature. And make sure it’s Natasha Romanoff, not Francesca Curtis.” 

She smiles as she reaches for a pen. “It is a good name.” 

“Definitely.” As she signs her name, Steve shuffles his feet, trying to work up the nerve to ask her. “So, uh, Sam and Buck are so high on themselves, I’m pretty sure they’re going to compete to see who can buy more rounds of beer before passing out. Darcy’s calling it Sloppy Fest the Sequel. You should come with us.” 

“I’ll take a beer with you, if that’s what you're asking, but only on one condition.” 

He raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “Name it.” 

“We ditch our idiot friends.” Natasha stands, grabbing her coat. 

“You wanna grab drinks, just you and me?” 

“Drinks. Other things.” Her eyes never leave his, not even as she slides her arms into her coat. Steve curses himself for not thinking to help her into it quick enough. “I’m just curious if you’re that bad a kisser or if the situation just threw you off your game.” 

Steve laughs loudly and starts walking with her to the elevator. “How generous of you.” 

“Anything for you, _Cake Pop_.” 

They pass Christine Everhart and her cameraman outside the precinct and the look on her face when she recognizes them is priceless. Steve hails a cab and they get that drink at a bar he’s never been to, mostly because it’s above 14th Street. He’d catch so much shit from Sam and Bucky if they ever found out he paid for overpriced liquor in a place like this, but all that seems to matter in the moment and in the entire world is the way Natasha tosses back straight vodka without flinching and the jolt he feels when her knee bumps his under the table and the sexy sound of her voice, especially when she’s speaking Russian. 

Steve kisses her once he walks her to her front door like the gentleman he is. Natasha pulls away with a sharp breath and tells him she doesn’t date cops, that it’s a rule she has for herself. He kisses her as she walks him backwards to her bed. She pulls away with a moan and tells him she doesn’t mind making him the exception. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: 
> 
> Apparently, they’re supposed to inform HR about their relationship and sign some disclosure papers. That’s protocol anyway. Something Natasha likes to ignore and Steve will let her for the time being. He hasn’t even told his mom about their relationship so why is he going to share personal information with Laura, the HR rep? Laura the HR rep who’s married to Detective Barton, Natasha’s best friend. She probably already knows like everyone knows. Darcy has joked about getting them a sheet cake that just says _finally_ on it and even Fury dropped an analogy about the dangers of dipping your pen in company ink. Yup, it was excruciatingly awkward, but none of that changes how he feels about Natasha. None of it. 
> 
> “So,” Natasha says, an extra little sway in her hips as she walks through the evidence locker, “in the perfect, happy world of Kyle and Francesca, which one of his friends did she fuck in high school?” 
> 
> Steve follows behind her, just a little distracted by what he sees. “I said _dated_.” 
> 
> “It’s high school. Everyone fucked in high school.” 
> 
> “Not everyone…” Steve groans when Natasha stops abruptly and he almost knocks into her. He steadies himself as she presses her back to his front and looks at him from over her shoulder with her sharpest smile yet. “No, Nat. I’m not telling you until after we close this case.” 
> 
> Natasha gives him an exaggerated pout and it almost works. Almost. “So who? Is he a basketball superstar with a scholarship to St. John’s or a Korean stoner?” 
> 
> “He’s a floppy-haired 2.3 GPA average kid named…Matty.” 
> 
> Natasha visibly deflates. “I think a girl with a name like Francesca and, I don’t know, a nose ring probably, prominent daddy issues and a collection of plaid schoolgirl skirts could do better than a boy named _Matty_.” 
> 
> Steve laughs loudly, trailing his fingers down her spine. He’s sure the security camera is only catching his back so he lets his touch linger. “Then a guy named _Kyle_ has zero chance!” 
> 
> “I’d say he has a bit of a chance.” She keeps walking like she really is searching for something. “A guy named _Steve_ might have an even better chance even if it took six months and going undercover to finally get a kiss out of him. I put money on three months after my transfer in the sex pool. I had insider intel and Selvig the ME wins the pool? How does that even happen?” 
> 
> Steve crowds up behind her, his lips right near her ear. “Wow, you must really like this Steve guy.” 
> 
> When he leans in to kiss her, Natasha pulls away. “Not until after we close this case.” When Steve groans, far more dramatically this time, Natasha holds up a finger at him. “Six months, Steve. _Six.”_
> 
> Steve grins wide and goes to search the shelves and shelves of evidence boxes with a little more fervor. “I should get on solving this case then.” 
> 
> “You definitely should, Detective Rogers.” 
> 
> “Yes, Detective Romanoff, ma’am.”


	10. Disneyland AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disneyland AU where Steve dresses up as Hercules for a living and Natasha has an annual pass to the park. How many trips to Disneyland is too many, really?

Honestly, Natasha finds it all kinds of ridiculous, sitting around the enormous Christmas tree in Clint and Laura’s farmhouse when Nick Fury barges in, wearing a black and white ugly Christmas sweater decorated in skulls and poinsettia. Lila chose it and Nick probably won’t put it on ever again so he’s going to wear the shit out of it now. That’s not the most ridiculous part. The most ridiculous part is when Nick starts handing out envelopes to everyone with annual passes to Disneyland inside.

Maria makes a face, confused and maybe a little suspicious, and Natasha kicks her in the shin in her fluffy Christmas socks courtesy of the youngest Barton’s self-proclaimed awesome fashion sense. Once Lila realizes what this means, she jumps up and down with excitement.

Cooper is soon to follow, channeling an NFL player at the end of the Super Bowl with arms thrusting into the air and a bellowing, “We’re going to Disneyland!”

“Whenever you want, as many times as you want for the next year, but you adults are on your own for parking.” Nick sits in his favorite armchair, the one in the corner with the best vantage point of the entire room, a coffee mug in one hand and a smug smile. Leave it up to Nick Fury to find a way to make the kids love him and make the adults suffer simultaneously. Evil genius. “I hear the firework show this time of year is really something.”

“And what are _we_ supposed to do with _this_?” Maria asks, motioning between her and Natasha. They’re both in their mid-twenties and supposedly left all their childish antics in college. Supposedly.

Nick takes a slow sip of his coffee and shrugs. “Babysitting.”

Laura laughs amusedly and Clint literally jumps out of his seat to celebrate the thought.

“Excellent idea,” Laura agrees, and she sure does sound chipper. “Thank you, Nick. Kids, say thank you to Grandpa Nick.”

Little feet patter across the hardwood floors before little bodies fling themselves at Nick, who holds his coffee out of harm’s way and hugs the two with his free arm. His grandkids’ enthusiasm clearly outweighs the looks from his adopted kids. Every single time.

“What’s the matter?” Nick sits back in his chair and can’t even bother to pretend he isn’t enjoying this. “Back in the day, the only way I’d get you three to behave was if I promised to drop you off at the park from sunrise to after midnight in the summer.”

“Back in the day, there weren’t so many cameras in every damn corner so you could hop off the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and dance on Black Beard’s treasure,” Clint says, with the biggest childlike grin on his face. “I swear, we got away with so much—” Laura nudges him not so nicely and it has him backpedaling. “Uh, you kids will never get away with so don’t even try it.”

“Remember that summer Bobbi worked there?” Maria starts cracking up and Natasha can’t help, but join. “She would never give us free stuff.” Maria elbows Clint. “Why bother dating a girl who worked at Disneyland if she wouldn’t give us free stuff?”

“Daddy dated a Disney Princess?” Lila gasps.

“She was more a gladiator than a princess,” Clint muses. “She did have that shiny, blonde Disney princess hair, though.”

Lila gasps again, slapping her tiny hands on her cheeks. “Daddy, you dated Rapunzel?”

“Sure, kid, but I married Belle.” Clint snakes an arm around Laura’s waist and kisses her cheek. Laura rolls her eyes, but leans into his embrace and everyone else makes grossed out sounds as if on cue, though they know they’re the envy of the room.

It’s early January, after the blackout dates and before the kids go back to school, when they plan their big day at Disneyland. Lila wears her Queen Elsa dress while Cooper goes with a little more understated Star Wars t-shirt. Laura packs sandwiches while Clint stretches and tells anyone who makes fun of him that he’s gonna have the last laugh. Lila frowns when she sees Natasha in one of her usual monochromatic outfits, and insists she at least wear her headband with mouse ears and a glittery bow on it. Natasha can’t say no to the girl so she plops it on her head and they’re off!

Memories that haven’t been thought of in years seem to surface the closer they get to Anaheim. When they were kids, Nick was always busy running his private security company and so he’d buy them tickets to Disneyland, give them a twenty each (which gets you almost _nothing_ in the park these days) and said if they got thrown in Disney jail, tough luck, they’d have to wait until he was done with work to be retrieved. They were young, very fortunate kids who ran around like they owned the place. Natasha, Clint, Maria and whatever strays they picked up along the way. It’s been years, but she still gets that giddy feeling, driving on I5 south and getting that first glimpse of Disneyland Drive.

_Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow and fantasy_

It’s a lot different with kids. When they were teenagers roaming the park as they pleased, they always had a plan of attack, knew which rides to hit up first, which would have the fastest lines, which to endure the lines because the ride is worth it. With kids, it’s different. Priorities change. Cooper wants to ride all the rides and Lila wants to meet all the characters and Clint is ambitious enough and wants to give his kids everything they want so he promises they can do it all. A tad difficult when they barely make it out of the gate.

Natasha zones out Lila and Cooper fighting over where they should go, about to tear the map they’re playing tug-o-war over. Meanwhile, Clint and Laura argue over if they should rent a locker for their coats incase the sun burns through the haze and it’s a surprise scorcher. And that’s when Natasha sees _him_.

A Greek god among tourists. Literally. Sort of. It’s Hercules. He’s tall and built, no body suit with padding necessary. The guy is the real deal, all muscle, a strong jaw and sculpted biceps, a whole lot of upper body bulk and yet a slim waist. He’s wearing the traditional fustanella, showing off thick, powerful thighs. Fuck, Hercules is hot. Disney casting was not playing around when they found this guy. God bless Disney. And if she doesn’t already feel like pressing her thighs together, a flock of children chase after him and when Hercules notices, he gives them a bright, boyish smile. Swoon.

“Hey, Lila,” Natasha says, not taking her eyes off of him. “Wanna meet Hercules?”

The kid pauses like she has to think about it, but then grins with her autograph book and her pen ready. There’s a bit of a line to see him, not that Natasha minds as she enjoys the view. Shamelessly. Around _children_. She tilts her head a little to the side and his blue cape is a bit in the way, but then he swishes it and there, _that ass_ underneath those pleats. He squats down to smile at and talk to a girl about a third of his height. He’s even good with kids. Oh fuck.

“So,” Natasha licks her lips once it’s Lila and Cooper’s turn to meet the cartoon come to life, “are you really as strong as they say you are?”

Hercules looks up from Lila’s autograph book and meets Natasha’s eyes. His are blue and perfect. “Why, ma’am, are you asking me for a test of my strength?”

Natasha shrugs a little. “If you’re so inclined.”

Hercules finishes his autograph and focuses on Lila, handing the book back to her. “Here you go, Your Majesty. Which weight should I try to lift as a test of my strength? It’s only right the Queen of Arendelle have the honor of choosing.”

Lila bites her tongue and surveys the collection of dumbbells and weights on a hay wagon behind Hercules. All of them have their weight written on in white cartoonish numbers. “I say, you start with the thousand.”

“The thousand? No problem.” Hercules takes hold of the weight with one hand. “You know, when I was five-years-old, I could lift a house.” He makes a big show of it with a dramatic pause and then slowly lifting the weight with his right hand while flexing the other arm. The definition of his biceps is just unfair.

“With one hand too,” Natasha says with mock awe.

“Now try the ten thousand!” Lila shouts, fully immersed in the experience.

Hercules complies, taking the ten thousand pound weight in his left hand this time and lifting it high above his head as he flexes his right arm. What a ham. Lila jumps up and down, clapping her hands.

“Jeepers, mister, you’re really strong,” Cooper says with a bit of sarcasm, but a sly smile. He’s older than his sister, but it’s also Disneyland and he can play along.

“Alright, let’s get a picture and then find your parents,” Natasha says, holding up her phone.

“Excellent idea!” Another Disney cast member, an older gentleman with a name tag that reads _Phil_ (ha) motions to the photographer holding up a bulky, high tech camera that’s much more professional than Natasha’s phone.

Hercules crouches down a bit so he can hang one arm around Cooper’s neck and the other around Lila. Natasha snaps the photo, but then raises an eyebrow in challenge. “No flex?”

Hercules smiles at her, a smile that shows off every one of his teeth. He stands tall and curls both of his arms right above the kids’ heads. His biceps might be bigger than Cooper and Lila’s faces. All the thirsty moms in line behind them can thank her later. Hercules seems solely focused on Natasha as he looks straight into the camera of her phone and she takes the picture.

As they wait in line for Gadget’s Go Coaster in Toontown (Laura insists Cooper start small before moving on to the Matterhorn and Big Thunder Mountain), Natasha bites the inside of her cheek and only feels a little bad about cropping Lila and Cooper out of the photo and making Hercules, his muscles, that tiny smirk and all, her new phone wallpaper.

***

Maria feels bad about having to drop out of their little Disney adventure at the last minute and promises they’ll go again another time. Natasha works on her in tiny, subtle ways and gets Maria to agree to go the very next weekend. The moment they’re through the gates, Maria starts explaining the game plan—grab fast passes for Space Mountain first and head over to Indiana Jones before that line gets ridiculous like it always does, but Natasha has other plans, lingering and on the lookout.

“What’s your problem?” Maria calls her out. “You said you didn’t get to do everything you wanted last week because of the kids and now you’re ready to go hard and do Disneyland like an adult. Why are you stalling?”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away. Just a few seconds…there he is.

Hercules in all his muscular glory along with his handler, Phil, yet again. He looks just as good as the first time she saw him, even with the ridiculous orange wig and the way a single lock of hair falls so perfectly over his red sweatband. Natasha bites her lip, just can’t help herself, and it doesn’t take long for Maria to catch on and whistles.

"God bless Disney casting."

Natasha knows she has no right to feel possessive as Maria ogles the hunk she clearly set eyes on first. Maria is a reasonable human being and knows Natasha pointing him out means Natasha has dibs. It's the same concept they've run with ever since they were teenagers and Maria had a crush on the Jungle Cruise operator slash Tour Guide or as Natasha liked to call him, Sam with the fake red parrot on his shoulder and the terrible jokes.

"Have you talked to Hercules Hottie?" Maria asks.

"Just when Lila and Cooper went up to get a photo with him last weekend." Natasha sighs breathily, gnawing on rim or her mug. Initially, she scowled at the ri-fucking-dicilous price, but if refills are free and she plans to come and go as she pleases, why not?

“Buns of bronze as advertised?” Maria asks, to which Natasha nods. Check, check and check. “He looks so much hotter than any grown man in a sweatband and leather sandals should. I wouldn’t mind a taste of that Herculade.”

Natasha shakes her head. And she thought the things that run through her head whenever she thinks of him are awful. “I can’t tell if you’re that thirsty or just mocking me.”

“I can’t tell either.”

Just before the first child in line gets to meet him, a woman in a purple dress, with exaggerated curves and long brown hair goes up to join him. _Meg_. Natasha holds back a scoff, watching from afar as Hercules greets his female counterpart, pulling her close by the back of her arms until their foreheads touch. People _awww_ and Natasha has seen enough.

“Aw, are you jealous of the mother of his children that he later slays?” Maria teases.

 _Jealous_. That’s _stupid_. So stupid it doesn’t deserve an answer.

“Are we going to Space Mountain or what?” Natasha asks, making the decision and heading toward Tomorrowland. “By the way, they changed the audio track, made it Star Wars-y.”

“Why the hell would they do that?”

When you treat all the worthwhile attractions like conquests and set out to conquer the park, you end up doing everything you want to do by noon and sitting outside the Village Haus, enjoying frozen lemonade and chocolate dipped bananas. It’s satisfying and leaves the rest of the day for a more slow-paced, relaxed round two.

They ride the King Arthur Carrousel mostly because it’s right there and laugh about the time an angry Disney cast member stopped the music to reprimand Clint over the speakers. Apparently the horses don’t go faster if you whip them with the seatbelt. It really is crazy they didn’t end up in Disney jail at least once.

Maria jumps off her horse before the ride completely stops and decides they should head down to New Orleans Square to ride the Haunted Mansion again and maybe get gumbo and beignets because why the hell not? Natasha swings her leg over, ready to argue in favor of corn dogs or maybe a turkey leg for that exact same reason when she finds Hercules standing there.

“Pardon me. It seems to me that what you need is a hero.” He holds out his large hands and Natasha nods without thinking, really. He takes her by the waist, lifts her like she weighs nothing at all and carefully lowers her back down to her feet. In her head, it almost happens in slow motion. “Just lending a hand to a damsel in distress.”

And it’s ruined.

Natasha props a hand up on her hip. “Do I look like a damsel in distress to you?”

“Choose your next words carefully, hero boy,” Maria warns him teasingly.

“I mean no offense, ma’am. I’m just doing my part in the fight against weak ankles.” Hercules _winks_ at her before quickly moving down the row of horses to assist a little girl in a beautiful blue Cinderella dress dismount her horse. Once he sets her down, he moves on to the next, but none of them are over the age of twelve, just Natasha.

“What happened to your girlfriend?” Natasha asks, when she and Hercules coincidentally walk through the exit gate at the same time. “Plotting your demise with the god of the underworld maybe?”

“Who? Meg? Nah. She’s probably wringing her hair out in the river or singing with the muses. You know, I think Pegasus is trying to help her get over her fear of heights.” The guy refuses to break character and why is that so charming? “Meg understands a hero’s work is never done.”

“Mhmm.”

He gives her a winning smile that’s as infuriating as it is perfect. “I think you two would get along. She’s a tough girl too, ties her own sandals and everything. I’m sure she would be happy to give you an autograph.”

“I bet she would.”

“Hercules.” The clipped voice of his handler interrupts their little conversation. Phil is wearing khaki today and taps the face of his watch impatiently. Hercules smiles sheepishly at Phil before bidding them farewell.

“Aren’t you going to go after him?” Maria asks.

“No,” Natasha replies, her eyes glued to him as he goes. “It’s more fun this way.”

***

Laura gets stuck in bed with the flu and it is fact that once one Barton goes down with some kind of illness, the other three are soon to follow. When Natasha hears this, she causally suggests maybe Cooper and Lila staying with her at her condo for the weekend. That way Laura can get some rest and Clint can devote all his time for waiting on his wife hand and foot and maybe finishing some home improvement projects he’s always too busy for. Cooper and Lila are onboard the moment the suggestion comes up. Natasha tells them to be sure they pack their Disneyland passports and their Hercules DVD.

Not that she’s expecting to see _him_ or anything. The first two times were just coincidence. It isn’t like she memorized his schedule or something. It’s not like she’s stalking him. That second time _he_ was the one who came up to her, not the other way around. If she sees him, she sees him. If she doesn’t, she gets to spend a day at the Happiest (and Priciest) Place on Earth with her niece and nephew. Win-win.

“Hi, Hercules!” Lila shouts as they pass by his post on their way to Fantasyland.

Hercules, who has just started to leave, smiles when he sees them and shouts, “Queen Elsa!” He walks right over to them with his cape billowing behind him and gives Lila a deep, proper bow. Natasha is taken aback for a moment. He remembers them.

“It’s just Lila today, but I am wearing my Zootopia shirt.” Lila stretches out her shirt for him to see and Hercules gives her an _oh_ and _aw_. “And this is my brother Cooper and Auntie Nat.”

“I recall.” He nods to her. “Ma’am.”

“Herc.” Natasha gives him a wink and a salute.

“Where are you headed?” Hercules asks.

“We’re gonna ride the teacups,” Cooper explains.

“Hercules, wanna ride with us?” Lila asks, and once the idea is in her head, she won’t let it go. She grabs onto Hercules’ wrist and starts jumping up and down. “Please? Please? Please?”

“Lila, honey, I’m sure Hercules is busy,” Natasha says soothingly. “He has hydras and sea serpents to slay.”

“I think I could do one ride. Olympus can wait. I am known to play hooky if a pretty lady asks me.” Hercules glances over at his handler and Phil doesn’t look happy about this decision, but doesn’t voice it.

It’s too late for disapproving looks anyway. Lila starts pulling Hercules toward Sleeping Beauty’s castle and Cooper is on the other side of him, asking if he’s the son of Zeus and Zeus is Poseidon’s brother and Triton is Poseidon’s son then does that make Ariel, the little mermaid, his cousin or niece or something? Natasha smiles as she follows behind them, wondering if he realizes he’s making these kids’ day. This is something they’ll be able to talk about for the rest of their lives. Remember that time Hercules rode the Mad Tea Party with us? Remember when Auntie Nat walked a step behind us and wanted to take a pair of sheers to Hercules’ ass-censoring cape?

“We watched your movie just last night,” Lila explains to Hercules as they walk right over the draw bridge, her hand still securely around the cuff on his wrist. “Auntie Nat knows all the words to all the songs.”

Ugh. Kids and their lack of filter.

Hercules smiles at Natasha from over his shoulder. “Is that so?”

And Lila doesn’t stop there. “Maybe you two should sing together sometime.”

Hercules doesn’t look back at her this time, which is probably a good thing, not that Natasha is blushing per say, but she does feel a little warm. He leans down to Lila and reply, “I think I’d like that.”

Lila chooses a pink teacup for the four of them to sit in and Cooper is too busy nodding when Hercules asks him to help spin the wheel to complain. Natasha sits across from Hercules, making sure he can’t see himself behind the icons on her phone as she taps on her camera. Natasha sits close to Lila and Cooper and Hercules squeeze in so they all fit in the frame for a picture. Lila begs her to take a video for the parents back home and Natasha hits record. A number of kids look on with envy from all around them, but Lila and Cooper are too excited and having too much fun to notice.

“Try not to break the wheel, huh, Wonder Boy?” Natasha gives him a taunting little smirk. “I’ve seen the damage you can do with your hands.”

He flexes his long, thick fingers on the wheel. Fingers that were gripping her waist not too long ago. He’s doing this on purpose, she’s sure. “Nothing to worry about, ma’am. I’ve completed my rigorous hero training and I’m very good with control.”

 _Keep the camera on the kids_ , she tells herself. Nothing to see here. Also, mental note, cut that part out before showing Clint and Laura.

Soon after, the ride starts to move and there’s no time for anything more than laughing until her throat hurts and smiling until her cheeks hurt to the sound of her niece’s squeals as her nephew and a gladiator spin them around and around.

 

The kids sleep in late the next morning and spend most of their Sunday splashing around the pool on the ground floor of Natasha’s condominium. They can’t stop talking about the previous day as Natasha pats herself on the back and sips out of her #1 aunt mug. The kids groan and moan and insist they don’t need to go to school and can just live with her like Lost Boys, but she somehow manages to corral them into her car and they both fall asleep in the backseat on the drive up to Clint’s farm.

“Jesus, Nat, what did you do to them?” Clint carefully opens Lila’s door and she doesn’t even stir as he unbuckles her seatbelt.

“Oh, you know, pumped them full of sugar, drove up to Vegas, normal aunt duties.”

“I’m glad I’m not paying you.” Clint gives his daughter a little shake by her shoulders. “Lila, sweetie, you gotta help daddy out here. His back isn’t what it used to be.”

“Dad?” Lila rubs her eyes. “Are we home?”

“Yep.” Clint kisses the top of her head. “Now hug Auntie Nat and tell her thank you.”

Lila slides out of the car and Clint makes sure she’s steady on her feet before he goes around the other side to wake Cooper, arguably the tougher assignment. The boy sleeps like a log. Lila sleepwalks over to Natasha, who wraps the young girl in a tight hug and lifts her off her little feet.

“Thank you, Auntie Nat. We can go to Disneyland again next weekend, right?”

Laura laughs, joining them from the porch. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”

“Why not?” Cooper asks out of nowhere, making Clint jump back in surprise. “We have annual passes!”

“Oh my god, my kids are spoiled brats,” Clint mutters. “Nope, no more.”

“Dad!” Cooper shouts, suddenly wide awake. “No!”

“No!” Lila echoes. “We need to go back so Auntie Nat can see Hercules.”

“Hercules?” Laura asks confusedly.

 _Shit_.

“Hercules rode the teacups with us yesterday!” Cooper shouts, with a lot more enthusiasm than expected. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s sleep disoriented and fairly exhausted, less concerned with his disinterested pre-teen image. “He’s so cool and he really is strong.”

“And he looks at Auntie Nat like daddy looks at mommy when he wants a second slice of pie!” Lila squeals, just as wide awake. “They’re supposed to sing together!”

“Alright, I can’t wait to hear all about your adventure, but you two have school tomorrow so you need to get to bed,” Laura says, in what’s deemed her mom voice. It’s no surprise the kids get a move on it, but not before hugging and thanking their aunt one last time. Once the kids’ thunderous footsteps fade up the front porch and into the house, Laura turns to Natasha with the biggest smile. “So, Hercules, huh? He was pretty cute.”

“Laura, are you seriously encouraging this right now?” Clint shakes his head. “Nat, are you really using my kids to hit on a fictional character? You’re like one of those guys who uses puppies or babies to pick up chicks!”

Natasha rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Clint, do you really have to make it weirder than it already is?”

“Do you actually like this guy?”

That’s a complicated question, especially when she doesn’t know his real name or his actual personality. She knows she likes looking at him and she’s recently discovered she likes being around him, but it’s kind of his job to interact with the park guests and maybe most of it is in her head. Natasha doesn’t feel like trying to explain herself or even make sense of herself so she asks how Laura’s feeling and blames the drive home on why she can’t stay.

 _No more_ , she decides. No more going out of her way or finding excuses and hoping he’s at his post. It’s ridiculous. No. The next time she goes to Disneyland, it isn’t going to be because she suggested it or wanted it or manipulated someone else into thinking it’s entirely their idea. She’s going to put a stop to this before it starts to feel like an addiction.

(If she finds herself up late at night, watching the videos of their little teacup ride on her phone, memorizing his laugh and pausing on his smile, well, it doesn’t mean she’s weak. Coveting digitally and from afar and coveting face-to-face are two entirely different things.)

***

The very next day at work, Wanda Maximoff pops over to Natasha’s desk at Stark Industries and asks if she wants to go to Disneyland on Saturday.

It’s Darcy birthday and while Darcy is one of Wanda’s best friends, she’s also dating Wanda’s brother. Playing third wheel at Disneyland of all places isn’t very fun and Maria might have mentioned Natasha _loves_ Disneyland and has an annual pass. In retrospect, she should’ve seen Maria’s name being thrown out there as a big red flag.

“You only beat me because you cheat!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

Wanda, with a classic mouse ears cap sitting atop her long, brown hair, giggles at her brother, Pietro, and his girlfriend. They’re both wearing matching his and hers Mickey and Minnie knit sweaters and bickering as couples do.

“Like it matters,” Wanda mutters. “Natasha beat all of us by three levels!”

It’s true Natasha is a Level 7 Galactic Hero when it comes to the Buzz Lightyear shooting ride. Clint is the only one who has ever bested her score. Maria has come close a few times. When they were kids, Nick made them promise to be _silent_ if he bought them an N64 and GoldenEye 007. Then they got too good and moved on to arcade games that involved light guns. Natasha knew coming in that she had nothing to worry about with this group. She loves them, but they’re all amateurs.

“So where’s the guy, Romanoff?” Darcy asks, so very direct and brass. She straightens the hat atop her head, a love child between a top hat and a Disney themed birthday cake.

Natasha remains cool, quirking an eyebrow. “I was explicitly told not to bring anyone because then we would have an uneven number of riders and the world would end.”

“Wow,” Pietro says. “I did not think anyone actually read Darcy’s text.”

Darcy sticks her foot out to trip him, but it doesn’t really work because Pietro has his arm around her so when he starts to stumble, he takes her with him. They both end up laughing and shoving at each other. Wanda doesn’t pay them any attention like she has had to deal with the two of them too much and for too long. Instead, Wanda sets her eyes on Natasha with a sweet smile.

“Maria said he works here. She called him Hercules Hottie.”

No, no, no, no. Fuck. Maria.

Natasha told herself that this would be a casual little trip she’d decided to tag along on because Wanda practically begged her and she has a pass, after all. She didn’t even look for him, wouldn’t want to with this crowd. Just when she’s about to congratulate herself for being so blasé about the whole thing. Fuck. Maria.

“You have a crush on a face character!” Darcy doesn’t realize how loud she speaks normally and this is no different. Natasha cringes and scans the area for a quick getaway. “I always thought it would be weird seeing them outside of the park like, what if they’re assholes in real life and just nice to kids and stuff because they’re paid to?”

“We saw a girl in full Cinderella costume, painting her nails and going eighty on the 405 once,” Pietro says, giving Wanda a little shake and she nods in confirmation.

“Nah, I doubt they let them take the costumes off the premises,” Darcy shoots down the idea. “Maybe it was a cosplay thing or she was on her way to a child’s birthday party or to do a porno.”

Natasha remains quiet, wants to be relieved they’ve forgot about her and her…crush (ugh)…predicament (honestly, fuck Maria), but then she feels a tug on her arm and Wanda is pointing across the way.

“Is that him?”

It is. She’d know those delicious arms and that ridiculous costume anywhere. He’s just outside a cast members only area, throwing his head back with a laugh as a man with shoulder-length brown hair and dressed in a loincloth, _only_ a loincloth, circles him the way a man raised by apes might.

“If you ever make a move, I want an introduction to Tarzan,” Wanda giggles, bumping into Natasha with her shoulder.

“Aoooga!” Darcy sounds the alarm, much to Pietro’s displeasure. “Do you know what that sound is? The cute guy alarm. Look at those _knees_. He’s so hot…he makes steam look cool.”

“That is not Disney appropriate,” Pietro says. A moment later, he flashes Natasha a mischievous smile. “Do not thank me and no not introduce that bum to my sister.” Before Natasha can ask what the hell he’s talking about, Pietro whistles and shouts, “Hey, Hercules! Hercules! Over here! My friend—”

Natasha drags Pietro into a sleeper hold a little too late. The damage is done. Hercules sees them, _her_ , and he waves. Being the assholes they are, Wanda, Darcy and Pietro wave right back. Hercules smiles, beams really, his hands on his hips and Tarzan smirks, resting an elbow on Hercules’ broad shoulder. This is all sorts of embarrassing and Natasha Romanoff doesn’t do embarrassing. She takes careful steps to keep away from potentially embarrassing situations. This feels like failure.

“I’m too old for this shit,” Natasha mutters, resting the urge to deck Pietro right now. Instead, Natasha looks down at her Converses and starts walking in the opposite direction.

“Come on, Romanoff! Giving up is for rookies!”

This whole thing is _stupid._ No man is worth the aggravation. Natasha swears she’s done acting like a teenager. Done. Even when she was actually a teenager, while Clint dated the girl at the popcorn cart and Maria flirted with dating Sam, the Jungle Cruise Tour Guide, Natasha never had a teen romance with one of the Disney cast members or anyone she met in the park for that matter. The idea that she’s a late bloomer makes her want to laugh and scowl.

Wanda makes her brother apologize so he buys Natasha a churro and springs for lunch that practically costs an arm and a leg. The tab is probably a big enough blow to his wallet that Natasha decides against actually punching him. It’s hard to stay angry at her friends and it’s even harder to stay angry at Disneyland when Pietro tells the riverboat operator it’s Darcy’s birthday and everyone aboard sings her happy birthday as they cruise the Rivers of America.

***

Natasha is pretty good on her word about putting her annual passport to rest. She doesn’t make any more indulgent theme park visits and her bank account thanks her for it. That is up until her employer, Tony Stark of the famed Stark Industries, decides to reward his thousands of employees (for putting up with his mad scientist shenanigans) and their families with a private party at, you guessed it, Disneyland.

She almost doesn’t go. It feels dangerous. It feels like a trap. If Maria told Wanda and Darcy about the Hercules _thing_ then their whole department probably knows, which means Tony knows and he isn’t afraid to pull strings for a good laugh. When Pepper finds out that she doesn’t want to go, her supervisor promises that there isn’t a catch. Tony isn’t going to try anything except maybe make a fool of himself on the soundstage with Mickey Mouse. And he sure does that.

They don’t actually go into the park till late in the evening anyway, which means there aren’t any Disney characters and their handlers roaming around for meet and greets. Just Mickey Mouse hamming it up for a photo op with Tony Stark and a few Storm Troopers monitoring the big dance party that breaks out in Tomorrowland. None of her friends and fellow coworkers dare mention Hercules. It turns out to be a fun night that only gets better.

“Uh, uh, uh, I’m, um, uh, uh, uh…”

Natasha snaps out of her thoughts and there he is. Again. Hercules. Except not. He has ditched the sweatband and the armor and even the wig. His hair is actually blonde and kept short. His smile full of hope, one last hope, and she smiles back. Natasha gives him a quick, indulgent look, down and back up. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and she kind of misses seeing those legs, but he sure can wear a simple white t-shirt. Rippling pectorals indeed.

“Are you always this articulate?” Natasha asks. “Or just still in character?”

“It slips through sometimes. Technically, I’m off duty so failing to form words, that’s all me.” He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. They fit him so well, she’s starting to buy into it and miss the pleats less. “I saw you and I was wondering if you need a partner? A riding partner?”

Natasha looks over to where Maria and Wanda were seconds ago, but her friends seem to have mysteriously disappeared. She makes a mental note to stop being bitchy to them.

“I have to warn you.” Natasha takes a step closer with the clear intent to invade his space. “I’m no damsel in distress.”

He chuckles, so damn charming even without the costume and the character facade. “As long as you aren’t afraid of heights.”

“Not at all, Wonder Boy,” she replies. “Yes. I could use a partner.”

It might be the strategic park lighting that makes his eyes look like they’re shining with something like _I missed you_ , but that’s impossible. They don’t even know each other, not really. That doesn’t seem to stop him from offering her his arm. That’s hardly enough to stop her from readily taking it. “My name’s Steve Rogers, by the way, but, uh, you can call me Herc if you want.”

She laughs into his shoulder and, fuck, he’s just as firm as she imagined and he smells good too. “Does that line usually work for you?”

“I’ve never said that before and I already regret it and I’m never saying it again.”

“I’m Natasha. Natasha Romanoff.”

“Romanov?” He furrows his brows. “That’s 20th Century Fox, that’s not Disney.”

“Are Fox and Disney in a blood feud I don’t know about?”

“The first rule about working for Disney is not talking about Disney. Don’t even get me started about DreamWorks or the Fleischer Brothers from back in the day.”

“Holy Hera, you’re a dork.” Natasha rolls her eyes, but can’t seem to wipe the grin off her face. “So what are we riding first?”

It’s a Small World. He chooses It’s a Small World. A little anticlimactic, but not a bad choice at all. The lights are pretty and the song is catchy and standing in line gives them a chance to talk. He tells her he’s a Brooklyn boy who moved out west after he got a scholarship to CalArts. As they cross from the South Pacific into the seven seaways finale, Steve confesses that getting paid to charm adults and children on a daily basis hasn’t helped him with talking to women, let alone meeting women. Well, except one. Leaning into him just a little more, Natasha bites her bottom lip and grins.

He insists she choose their next ride and of course they head over to Buzz Lightyear. It’s been her experience that there’s no quicker way to see a man’s true colors than beating him at something he thinks he should win. Once situated in their space cruiser, Steve grips his blaster, looking adorable, and feeds her a Hercules quote (“Rule Number 96: aim”) while Natasha engages the trigger to gauge where her laser beam is firing, more serious than anyone should probably be. She can’t help it. At the end of the ride, when her counter flashes level seven to Steve’s level five, she looks over at him and he’s staring back at her with his mouth open a little, the corners of his lips tugging up ever so slightly. And she decides, she’s keeping this one.

They both agree to ride Space Mountain next since they’re in the area and it’s awesome. She takes his hand once they’re strapped into the car because what better excuse is there? Steve folds his fingers through hers just as they blast off into space. Their picture turns out ridiculous, her hair is everywhere, his mouth wide open and they were in the front row so you can clearly see their hands mashed together. God, they look like they’re on a date or something and she doesn’t hate the idea at all.

“Check it out.” Steve shows her his phone and their Space Mountain picture is on it. So he stopped by the counter for a little more than to say hi to his coworkers. “I can send it to you. Do you wanna give me your number?” Natasha raises an eyebrow. He laughs her name and she swears it’s never sounded so good. “That wasn’t a line either. Honest to Zeus truth.”

She slips his phone out of his hand and sends the photo to herself. “How about we get some hot chocolate and you show me the best spot in the park to watch the fireworks?”

Steve takes her hand in his again and holds on as they make their way to Main Street.

“It’s the best hot chocolate in the world,” Steve swears.

“Ain’t that the gospel truth,” the woman behind the counter agrees. She has a mischievous little smile on her face. Her name tag reads _Roberta_. She must know Steve because she throws in a few chocolate whoopie pies and refuses to charge them for it.

As they settle down in what Steve calls the best seats in the house, he asks Natasha about Lila and Cooper. Something about that, about him, the way he remembers her niece and nephew by name out of the hundreds of children he probably interacts with daily, something about that gets to her. So when the lights all along Main Street dim and Natasha misses the firework show because she’s too busy kissing Steve Rogers, licking into his mouth and tasting the chocolate on his tongue, she doesn’t regret it one bit.

After all, she has an annual pass and a very good reason to keep coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: 
> 
> When Natasha brings Steve to Christmas at the Barton’s, the first time she’s ever brought a guy home for the holidays, the kids come running to greet them. Lila launches up into Steve’s arms and proclaims that she’s going to sing “I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)” at the wedding reception when he asks her Auntie Nat to marry him. Natasha knows she has just willingly walked into what promises to be a long holiday weekend of embarrassment after embarrassment, but if Steve keeps smiling at her the way he does, maybe it won’t be so bad after all. 
> 
> ADDITIONALLY:
> 
> If Chris Evans is Hercules, Octavia Spencer is one or all of the muses.


	11. College AU: Late Night Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU: Natasha just wants to get a drunk Maria and a drunk Wanda home safely after a sorority party, but of course they have to go to Subway first and of course the cute guy is working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever been drunk in a Subway (the sandwich variety) at 2am clap your hands...just me...okay.

What is there to do at one in the morning after a wild sorority party? Go to Subway, of course!

The sandwich shop is right on campus and open twenty-four hours, seven days a week so really, they're asking for trouble. 

Wanda giggles and falls forward against the door in her effort to open it. Just as Natasha catches the freshman by the arm, Maria pushes her from behind, chanting, "Carbs! Carbs! Carbs! Carbs!”

Now, usually, Maria is the straight-laced stickler for responsibility, but it was a tough finals week for everyone and now that it's finally over, even Maria’s down to celebrate. And celebrate hard. Having the highest alcohol tolerance in your sorority is a point of pride, for sure, but it also means Natasha's pretty used to herding drunk girls home.

"Keep it together, Maximoff!" Maria shouts. Actually shouts. In Subway. After midnight. "We want carbs! When do we want them?"

"Now!" Wanda shouts with both hands cupped around her mouth. 

"Stop," Natasha groans. And she's ignored. Naturally. 

Natasha knows it isn't really their fault. It's Clint's. He should have known better than to leave pot brownies wrapped in foil on their kitchen counter, all unassuming and innocent-looking. Of course, Wanda would see brownies and dip in and of course the face Wanda pulls ("These don't taste like any brownies I've ever had before") would stoke Maria's curiosity ("Clearly. Hand it over, fresh meat!") and that was before the party. If Clint were there, he could have warned them, but he’s on baby duty. Therefore, Natasha is on babysitting duty and this is all Clint's fault. Hopefully, Baby Cooper is giving his daddy hell on Auntie Nat's behalf. 

The one upside the sandwich shop is completely empty, except for the employee...

Oh God. Of all the Subway employees, why is it him working? 

"Nat!" Wanda shouts. When she realizes how loud she's being, the girl giggles just as loudly. In a thankfully quieter voice, she whisper-hisses, "Your Cute Guy is working!"

_God_.

Maria laughs, both hands on her belly like a jolly dancing Santa, and Wanda giggles almost incessantly. Honestly, they're so damn lucky she loves them.

"Hi, welcome to Subway.” Her Cute Guy greets them with a professional smile, pushing through the natural awkwardness of having to serve drunk girls at an ungodly hour. He's wearing his uniform polo that must have shrunk two sizes in the dryer, making his arms look enormously delicious. His Subway visor sits crooked atop his head and there's a pin on the bill _ask me about the avacados_. "What can I get started for you?" 

"It smells so good in here," Maria gushes, squinting at HCG’s employee name tag from over the counter. "Steeeve. Do you ever get tired of smelling like bread?"

"Nat, his name is Steeeve," Wanda whispers, and gets batted away for it.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Natasha tells Steve. “It was rhetorical.”  

Maria holds up a finger. "I think not."

Her Cute Guy— _Steve_ —looks between them like a startled, cornered animal that knows he has no power here. That is, he would look that way if startled, cornered animals were also tall, blonde and gorgeous, not her type at all, but Natasha can’t stop stealing glances at him all the same. She would never admit it, but he’s a big reason she even eats here. And the fact that it’s pretty damn cheap. On a student budget, you can’t beat cheap.

"Could you give us a minute please?" Natasha flashes Steve a polite if embarrassed smile before dragging Wanda and Maria to what she prays is out of earshot. She glances back over at Steve, who pops his head into the back room and shouts to his coworker, something about shawarma. "How about pizza instead?"

"No, no, no, no!" Maria refuses. "You've been lusting—”

_Lusting_. God.

“—after the cutie with the booty practically all semester!"

"Cutie with the booty? Okay, on top of the brownies, how much did you drink tonight?" Natasha crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, feeling like a goddamn schoolteacher scolding a pair of troublesome children. "So this was less about the munchies and more about—”

"The lonely nights you spend in the library," Wanda says, absentmindedly playing with the end of Natasha’s hair that’s loosely curled tonight. Natasha bats her away from doing that too. "But I could go for a turkey sandwich." 

"Ditto and I'll even go all in for a footlong." A dirty grin crosses Maria's face and Natasha already knows what she's thinking. 

"Maria, don't. Just order your food and don't make his job harder than it already is, okay?" Natasha's voice is low and stern, but she doesn't even think they're listening. 

Surprisingly, they do as she asks, aside from the giggling over wanting a six inch or foot long and the inquiry over why the mayo and other sauces go on the sandwich last. Steve entertains their questions and requests while fixing overstuffed sandwiches that will hopefully soak up all the alcohol. Once they reach the register, Maria and Wanda both turn to Natasha with pleading looks, eyes big and bottom lips protruding. Honestly, it's like they coordinated it or something. Natasha pulls out her wallet and the two maul her with hugs and sloppy kisses before taking their sandwiches to a table near the drink fountain, which, to Natasha's relief, really is out of earshot. 

"Sorry about them," Natasha says, fiddling with the zipper of her wallet. "They're..."

"Plastered," Steve says with a charitable smile. “You’re fine. I—I mean, they’re fine. I-I mean, _it’s_ fine. It’s fine.” He lifts his hand as if to run through his hair, but remembers the plastic gloves he’s wearing and stops mid-movement. “Uh, trust me, it’s not the first and won't be the last, especially during this shift. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff that's happened in here this time of night...so, uh, will that be all?"

"Yup." 

Just as the word leaves Natasha's mouth, Maria walks back over, grabs a bag of chips, pops said bag of chips open and walks back over to Wanda without even acknowledging an annoyed Natasha and a smiling Steve. (He has to be doing it out of professionalism, there's no way he would put up with this shit for any other reason). 

"And a bag of chips," Natasha adds. "I'm so, so sorry."

Steve shakes his head and scrunches his face in a way that insists an apology isn't necessary. "If you make it a meal, it comes with a drink."

"Sure," Natasha says, wishing this night would just end already. "They could both use some water. Lots and lots of water."

"Sounds like a plan." Steve works his fingers across the buttons on the register. "Not getting anything for yourself? No turkey on wheat?"

"No, no thanks." Natasha presses her lips together. "I don't think so. Not tonight."

“Okay, if no sub, do you like chocolate?" 

Natasha lets herself relax, feeding off of Steve's calm demeanor. The only reason he’s this calm and nice is because he doesn't seem to notice Maria and Wanda giggling and throwing shredded lettuce at each other, a lot of which is landing on the floor. "Who doesn't love chocolate?"

The smile he serves her is an easy, sweet one as he starts filling a paper bag with chocolate chip cookies. "No charge."

"You really don't have to..."

"Don't even worry about it," Steve assures her. "From one friend who gets stuck babysitting drunk buddies to another, I've been there. A lot. Trust me."

That’s the second time he’s said that to her, _trust me_ , and it’s ridiculous how much she wants to considering she doesn’t even know this guy. The way he looks at her, with that big goofy smile, she tells herself not to feel smug, he's probably this sweet to everyone who walks in when business is slow. Then it hits her. 

"Hey Steve, how’d you know I usually get turkey on wheat?"

And the way his face flushes is priceless, pretty much justifying his nickname. So, so cute.

"It's, uh, my job to be attentive, ma'am," Steve says, trying to mask how flustered he is. Honestly, right when she thinks the guy can't get any cuter. 

"Yes, you seem to be quite the devoted sandwich artists." Natasha hands him a twenty in exchange for the package stuffed with cookies. "Keep the change." 

"I shouldn't." Steve gathers a couple measly dollars and loose coins, holding it out to her. "But I wouldn't mind, um, your name?"

She laughs a little because, honestly, he could ask for so much more and she’d probably agree and all he wants is her name. So she gives it to him. "Natasha."

She's never thought of her name as anything special. There are two other Natashas in her sociology lecture alone and tons more on campus probably, but you wouldn't think that seeing the smile that lights his face. Like her name is beautiful or something. She looks down and holds onto the cookies a little tighter.

"Natasha!" Maria shout-slurs. "Clint sent pictures of Coop dressed like a cherub! Bow and arrow and everything! It's adorable!"

"You should probably get back over there," Steve says gently. 

"Right. Someone needs to keep them from totally destroying this place." Natasha takes a step back, a move that's this close to being some weird ass curtsy, clutching those cookies so tight they’re probably broken into crumbly pieces. "Thanks, Steve."

"Yeah, anytime. Don't be a stranger, Natasha."

She doesn't plan to. Not at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: 
> 
> When Natasha has to pull together a Halloween costume the day of, she asks to borrow Steve's Subway polo and visor. It’d be weird if they were still in the food service worker and late night customer phase, but they’ve moved beyond that. Far beyond that. Friends on the verge of more even. Steve shakes his head and smiles that same smile, like he thinks she’s incredible or something. Natasha's so grateful when he says yes, she even lets him take the polo and the visor off of her later that night.


	12. Black Mirror/Hang the DJ AU: Blind Date (ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Natasha meet through a dating program that puts an expiration date on romantic relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't take credit for the idea. Inspired by the "Hang the DJ" episode of Black Mirror. You don't have to watch the episode to read it and it may be spoiler-y if you were planning to watch it. Sort of. I did put my own twist on it though.

It’s his first time.

Steve doesn’t know why or what compelled him to try this. He tries not to over-think or even question what led him to sitting in a restaurant with low, romantic lighting, shifting uncomfortably in a brown leather jacket that makes him feel even smaller and skinnier than he already is. He’s waiting for his date, someone he has never met before, someone a compatibility algorithm matched him with. So, understandably, he’s nervous.

While he waits, Steve can’t help, but case the room. There are men in all black posted at each exit, keeping watchful eyes on all the pairs sitting together throughout the restaurant. Steve isn’t too sure about how they go about this “System.” A part of him screams that none of this is right and is quickly dismissed as his old-fashioned upbringing. This is how people date in the twenty-first century. He tells himself he has to move with the times or be alone forever.

All of his jumbled thoughts disappear when a vision of a redhead walks into the room.

“Jeepers,” Steve mutters under his breath. “Is that her?”

The little round device on the table lights up and a British voice comes forth. “I am unable to confirm match at this range.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Steve mutters, fixing his hair to the left.

The woman with her long red hair in soft curls over one shoulder stops at his table and flashes the face of her own device at him. There on the digital screen is a photo of Steve in a white t-shirt with his toothpick arms exposed and his hair messy across his forehead. Where did the System even get that picture of him? They couldn’t have chosen a better one?

“Looks like we’re a match,” she purrs. He can’t help, but watch the stretch of her pink lips as she smiles. This has to be some kind of mistake. No way someone as beautiful as her could be his perfect match. The idea is almost laughable.

Steve stands on instinct, smoothing his hands down the front of his clothes. “Ma’am.”

“Hi,” she says. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Steve Rogers.” He motions to one side of the C-shaped booth with plush blue velvet seats and doesn’t even think of sitting before Natasha smooths down the material of her black, super fitted dress and does so first. The way she kind of pauses and raises an eyebrow suggests she wasn’t expecting him to have manners, which rubs Steve the wrong way. She should expect and demand it. But he doesn’t say anything about it and neither does she.

“Uh, I guess we should order?” Steve looks down at the white table cloth under his hands, realizing he doesn’t have a menu.

Natasha chuckles. “First time?”

Steve ducks his head with nervous laughter. “That obvious?”

She rests her chin in her hand, taking in the sight of him, assessing him. Her face gives away none of what she finds. “The System orders for us since it knows us so well. Not to mention you still have that bright-eyed optimistic thing going on.”

She could have easily said _nervous_ and he’s grateful she spared him.

“I take it you’re not?” he asks. “Optimistic?”

Her eyes are plenty bright. Green. He feels the urge to break out acrylics and try to match the color of her eyes though he already knows he’ll fail. Must be something uniquely Natasha.

“I’d say that’s the politest way to ask if I’ve been around the block a few times.” Natasha straights in her seat and grabs one of the glasses of red wine that were out on the table when Steve arrived. “I’m not. New to this. Are you going to ask how many?”

“No,” Steve answers, having to physically stop himself from wringing his fingers. “I wouldn’t wanna be rude…”

She doesn’t respond to that as a server arrives with their food. Shawarma for Natasha. Butter pecan ice cream for Steve?

“Not what you were expecting?” She looks amused and makes eating some kind of meat wrapped in bread look as graceful as ballet.

Steve scoops some ice cream onto his spoon and watches most of it spill back into the bowl, more liquid than anything else.

“Here. We can share.” Natasha pushes her plate toward him and scoots closer in the booth. Steve does the same, picking up the other half of the sandwich. “Have you ever had shawarma before?”

“Once.” The taste is familiar, but Steve can’t quite place the first or last time he tried it. “So how does this work? We’re supposed to check our expiration date or something, right?”

“Expiration date. Like we’re more canned goods than people. But yeah.” Natasha pushes his device across the table to him with just one finger and lifts her own in her free hand. “We have to press at the same time to reveal how much time we have together. Ready?”

Steve nods. “One, two, three.”

She beats him to the press and the quirk of her lips says she knows it and likes it. Steve lets out a little sound that’s more exasperated amusement than irritation or downright nervousness. He doesn’t mind losing if she’s the one who comes out on top. He ducks his head at that embarrassing thought and sees the number that appears on their matching devices.

 _12 hours_.

And it just confirms what he already knows. No way someone as beautiful as Natasha could be matched with a skinny, awkward loser like him.

Her lips tug down, but he doesn’t let himself think too much of it. “That’s…the shortest so far.”

“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Steve says quickly. “The System sets us up on these dates, takes in our reactions and experience from them so that every match gets better and better until it finds _the one_ , right? It has a 99.8% success rate. Even if it takes time, it’s just ‘cause you deserve the best.”

He can feel her trying to read him and when she tilts her head to one side, some of her hair falls across her face. “You can tell all that from five minutes of knowing me? How much of that do you actually believe and how much is bullshit?”

“I don’t bullshit,” Steve replies, relaxing into the blue booth at his back. “And I’m always honest.”

His own words echo in his head. There’s something so familiar about them. Before he can even try to remember where he heard them before, he’s distracted by the sight of Natasha dipping a spoon into his butter pecan ice cream…soup and meeting his stare with half-lidded eyes as she brings it between her pretty, pink lips.

“We don’t have much time,” Natasha says. “We shouldn’t waste it.”

When he shovels a spoon of ice cream soup into his mouth in response, she laughs and he loves the sound of it. Ten minutes into his first date and Steve already knows he’s screwed.

 

…

 

This date feels different from the others.

It starts like all the other dates she’s been on in the System. Dinner at a table for two. A slow trip in a self-driving cart along a road lined with garden lights back to the modern log cabin just for them. Usually, the drive back is a silent one, anticipating what happens once they’re alone in a room with a bed. If Steve’s thinking the same, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he points out constellations and Natasha points out the ones she can find, always one to give as good as she gets.

Steve gets out of the cart first and holds out a hand to help her from it. He’s polite in a way she’s yet to experience in the System. Most are polite after being conditioned to, an automatic response, but when Steve stands as she approaches and holds doors open, it feels like it comes from a sincere place, like everything he does is done with his whole heart. Where did this guy come from?

He’s still looking up at the stars and squints one eye, pointing upward. “And right over from Virgo is Hydra.”

 _Hydra_. That word leaves her shaken for a reason she can’t riddle out and instead of thinking about it, Natasha grabs him by the sleeve and leads him to the door. “C’mon, star eyes. It’s cold out here.”

He follows her through the front door and the way he jumps when the fireplace automatically fires up makes her grin. He’s cute and doesn’t even realize it. Steve walks around the little cabin filled with sleek, modern furniture, taking it all in. Watching him, Natasha wonders if she was this nervous her first time here. She feels like she’s been here so long it’s all a blur at this point.

Steve wanders behind the partition where Natasha knows the bed is. She kicks her heels aside and follows after him. They’re the same height with her heels on and without, he’s a good inch or two taller. Just as she takes this in, Steve sits on the edge of the bed and bounces once then twice. Her laughter barely covers the sound of the bed springs squeaking.

“So,” Steve says awkwardly.

“So…” Natasha sits beside him. “This is usually the part where we see if we’re compatible in other ways.”

“Even after knowing each other for only a couple hour?” Steve blurs out, letting his nerves take over yet again. Seems like he doesn’t know how to keep what he feels to himself. It’s endearing in a way. “Even when we know it’ll all end by morning?”

Natasha traces the tip of her finger along the side seams of his slacks. “Sometimes, when a moment’s all you have, you should use it the best you can.”

“Yeah, but we hardly know each other.”

“Does it matter if all we have is a few hours?”

“It matters to me.”

The sincerity in his voice is so strong, it almost feels like a slap across the face. Natasha has to look away. It hadn’t mattered to her. It doesn’t. She hasn’t had a date where it didn’t lead to sex and end with a handshake the next morning seconds before time ran out and they never saw each other again. She never wanted to see any of them again. What’s the point of getting to know the people she’s matched with if it’ll be over in less than twenty-four hours? Knowing and acting accordingly is the whole point of the System, right? She’s never stopped to question it before.

She needs a moment to recollect herself and heads toward the bathroom.

“Natasha…”

There’s something so intimate about the way he says her name that it makes her stop in place. It shocks her to her very core. She looks at him from over her shoulder and his head is hanging down. His once neatly styled hair falls across his forehead and he looks so young all of a sudden.

“I wasn’t judging you,” Steve says. His words are quiet, but firm. “If it came off that way, I apologize.” He shakes his head. “Try the System, they said. Having everything mapped out for you makes finding ‘the one’ so much simpler.” He looks up at her then with a self-deprecating smile. “Guess I always find a way to screw it up.”

“You didn’t screw it up.” Natasha sits back down on the bed with her back against the headboard this time. “Though, I am trying to figure out what planet you’re from, Steve Rogers.”

“Earth. Though sometimes I feel like I’m from a different time.” Steve scoots up the bed parallel to her and stares up at the ceiling.

Natasha steals a glance his way. Who says things like that? Why doesn’t she find it weird, just so _him?_

They spend most of the time just talking. When expectation and anticipation are tossed out of the equation, Steve opens up, laughs his great laugh and in turn makes her laugh. When expectations and anticipation are tossed out of the equation, Natasha can’t quite get enough of how she can make him blush just with words and looks and smiles. He loses the leather jacket and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and she tosses her coat and ties her hair up in a messy bun. She feels more comfortable with him than she has with anyone else maybe ever and tries not to think about what happens in the morning.

Some time in the middle of the night, Steve takes her hand, pushing his fingers through hers. It’s just handholding, but the surprising intimacy of it makes her gasp more audibly than she’d like. When she tilts head to look at Steve, his eyes are closed and his breathing is more addible than she’d like yet comforting all the same. Though it goes against her instincts, Natasha presses her palm to his and lets herself sleep.

 

…

 

The next morning, as their devices count down, Steve can’t look at her without smiling. “Well, uh, thank you.”

“Thank you?” She looks amused more than anything. “For…?”

“For…being my first.” It registers how that sounds and he rests his hands on his hips with a loud sigh. “I mean… If all of my relationships are like this then maybe the System isn’t so bad after all.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way. Surprised my pessimism didn’t rub off on you, but glad.” Natasha tugs on the lapel of his jacket and keeps tugging as she leans in.

Both of their devices beep and time expires before their lips can touch. Steve falls back first. It’s against the rules of the System to have any kind of intimate contact with someone who isn’t your match. The brief regret on her face makes him feel like a jackass, but she quickly covers it with a smile.

“It was nice meeting you, Natasha.” Steve runs his fingers through the front of his hair, pushing it to one side.

“See you around, Steve.” She salutes playfully and turns to walk away.

Once she’s gone, Steve kicks at the grass that’s just _too green_ and fake to his eyes after all the time he spent staring into Natasha’s eyes and trying to guess the exact mix of green and blue and magic.

“Jarvis,” Steve calls out to the device in his palm.

“Yes, Steve,” the British voice replies. “How may I assist you?”

“How do I know she isn’t the one for me?” Steve vents…to a disembodied voice…in a round contraption. It’s not like he has anyone else here he can vent to.

“Everything happens for a reason, sir.”

Steve tilts his head to the blue sky and sighs. He doesn’t like it, but what else can he do?

Later that night, he’s paired with a woman named Bonnie. Bonnie with her blonde hair in a popular 1940’s style. Bonnie who feels familiar somehow. Bonnie whose nose scrunches as she takes a quick look around like she’s ashamed to be seen in public with him or something. They check their expiration date before the food even arrives.

12 months.

 

…

 

Natasha is past the point of hating the System. She feels resigned to it mostly.

The feeling gets worse after Steve. Sweet, nervous, bright-eyed Steve who didn’t whip his shirt off the moment they walked in through the door, assuming a rapidly approaching expiration date meant marathon sex and little time for anything else. She thinks about holding his hand while her own clutches a sheet to her bare breasts as the nameless haircut and abs combo snores loudly on the other side of the bed. She thinks about Steve and how short their time was together. It could only mean she isn’t good enough for someone like him. No. She’s most suited for a string of affairs that only last more or less twenty-four hours, more sex than conversation.

The next time she sees Steve it’s at Pepper Potts and Tony Stark’s Pairing Day. She’s talked to Pepper a few times and seen Tony around, but dodged him every time. Thank the System she was never paired with him. Apparently the System makes a big deal about celebrating two people being named a perfect match. Everyone within the System attends. Natasha has been to more of these parties than she cares to remember.

Seeing Steve purusing the food table makes her want to smile and realize she hasn’t had a reason to smile in a long time. Seeing Steve offer a blonde woman his bag of popcorn just to be dismissed with the roll of her eyes is less amusing. What a bitch. Even worse is the way Steve deflates and the self-loathing has no place on his face.

Natasha walks right up to him regardless of how Alexei, the haircut and abs she’s matched with this hour, might react. She manages to sneak up behind Steve, as soundless as an assassin, and taps one shoulder. When he turns right, she quickly moves left and out of sight. Steve turns in a full circle and the smile that spreads across his face when he sees her is hard not to smile at.

“Hey, stranger.” Natasha steals a kernel of popcorn from his bag and tosses it into her mouth. “So, was that _her_?”

He looks down as if embarrassed, kicking invisible rocks. Damn it. She shouldn’t have even mentioned it. To remedy the sudden awkwardness, she brings a finger right under his chin and tips his head until he meets her eyes.

“What?” he asks.

“Just checking to see if that bright-eyed optimism is still intact.” She shifts her lips from side to side as if she even has to think about it. His eyes are old in a way she can’t quite place, but definitely feels. “Yeah, you’ve still got it, Rogers.”

His eyes twinkle like the stars he loves and she tries not to relish in the fact that she did that, that she has that kind of power over him. It feels exciting yet dangerous, knowing he isn’t her match. One of his hands fall to her elbow and she almost gasps at the gentle touch, but masks it better this time. Just as the thought of taking his hand flits through her mind, she feels a sharp tug on her other arm and there’s her match of the moment, Alexei.

“Alexei,” Natasha says. “This is Steve. Steve, Alexei. Steve and I were…matched once.”

She would expect Steve to feel intimidated by the big, Russian bear of a man and shrink away, but he stands his ground. His eyes keep moving to Alexei’s grip that hasn’t loosened on her arm and his jaw visibly tenses. It isn’t possessive on Steve’s part, not even jealousy. He almost seems…protective. They only spent twelve hours together and he cares so much. More of why she isn’t good enough for him, she assumes.

Grand music begins to play. Everyone turns their attention to the small stage where Tony Stark and Pepper Potts are basking their perfect match status. Next comes the speech and the parading behind the happy couple to see them off two-by-two like animals about to board an ark to salvation.

“It was nice seeing you, Steve.” Natasha lays a hand on his chest, trying to communicate that she’s okay, she can handle it herself. Alexei may act like a caveman sometimes, but she knows how to handle men like him. Manipulation must be in her blood, another reason she tells herself not to feel bad, not to dwell. Steve isn’t that. He doesn’t deserve that. _He isn’t yours. He can’t be_.

“Have faith in the System,” Pepper Potts tells the crowd gathered in front of her. Her match has his arm around her, content to let her be the one to speak even though something tells her the lack of showboating goes against his nature. “The System does deliver. If you’re having doubts, hang in there!”

Natasha returns to her log cabin with Alexei though she’d prefer to be returning alone. If she’s honest with herself, she’d prefer to be returning with a specific someone else. She turns her back to Alexei in bed and flexes her fingers in front of her, imagining Steve’s folded between hers.

 

…

 

Steve doesn’t even look at Bonnie as their devices count down to their expiration date. It would feel rude, but he knows she doesn’t care and she wouldn’t be looking back anyway. They don’t even say goodbye, not even to be polite. They just walk off in different directions.

He gets two steps toward a self-driving cart before his little device sings a familiar tune.

“Another match?” Steve asks aloud. “ _Already_?”

“Correct, sir.”

Steve grumbles under his breath. An hour to himself would be nice. Alas, instead, he puts on a clean shirt and pushes his hair to the side, mentally preparing for another relationship. He has to drag himself into the restaurant, but his whole demeanor changes when he sees Natasha sitting at a little c-shaped booth alone. Her hair is down in soft waves and her lips are sinfully red.

“Nat!” Steve doesn’t even stop to question where that nickname came from. It just comes out of his mouth. Natasha stands, not to be gentlemanly or polite, but to embrace him in a warm hug. Holding her in his arms feels right like nothing has before. “Is this right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been paired with someone more than once before.” Natasha sits back down in the booth and Steve slides in across from her. “Jarvis, is this right?”

“That’s correct, Miss Rushman.”

Steve’s brow crinkles. “Miss Rushman?”

“He calls me that sometimes. I don’t know. Maybe it’s on the fritz.” Natasha knocks her little device against the side of the table. “Maybe the System mixed me up with Miss Rushman and these bland guys are meant for her, not me. It’s been bouncing me from person-to-person and I’m so over it, Steve. I get so detached, you know? I swear, it’s like an out-of-body experience. I literally leave my body and sit in the corner and just watch myself fuck these guys.”

Steve regrets taking a sip of water during her little rant, choking at that last part. He puts his glass down and pounds a hand against his chest. Natasha scoots close enough to rub her hand across his back, but the smile on her face that’s more of a smirk says she knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

He clears his throat. “Long-term with someone who has no interest in you can be just as bad. Watching the clock every single day, just counting down. I’m horrible for thinking that, aren’t I?”

“No, Steve, you’re not horrible,” she assures him. “You might actually be from Earth after all.”

Steve spins his little round device where his bowl of butter pecan ice cream soup is about to take. “So do you want to check this thing now?”

“No,” Natasha replies. “Fuck it.”

“What?” he balks.

She leans in closer to him almost conspiratorially. “Let’s just not. I’m so sick of this whole thing. I don’t even want to think about it. I just want to spend as long as I can with someone I actually want to spend time with. Yes, I’m talking about you, Steve.”

“I figured,” Steve says with a playful defensiveness. “Who else would you be talking about?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just so _irresistible_ , Rogers.”

She’s teasing, he knows, but it’s nice to pretend for however long they have together. He knows it isn’t nice or right to compare women, but he feels so comfortable and happy five minutes with Natasha compared to his whole twelve months with Bonnie. It’s nice to be with someone who actually wants to be around you and actually talks to you. When Natasha reaches across the table to hold his hand, Steve feels a burst of warmth and determination to make every second of this second chance count.

 

…

 

They hold hands the entire drive to their designated cabin and this time, their eyes aren’t on the stars, but each other. He looks at her like he thinks she’s precious or something, the only person in the universe worth looking at. She returns his stare, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth. She can tell he is wholly unprepared for what’s to come. Sounds promising.

This time the sudden roar of the fireplace doesn’t distract Steve. Nothing can tear his eyes away from her. Natasha drops her coat and kicks her heels off with purpose. She doesn’t want to scare the poor guy, but she doesn’t know how many more hints she can drop without coming off as completely desperate. She can’t help how much she wants him. To want feels so novel after so much time spent merely going through the motions.

“So.” Natasha wraps her arms around his neck. “Let’s not make the same mistake twice, shall we?”

He nods and licks his lips that she has caught herself staring at more than a few times tonight. She plays with the soft blonde hair at the back of his neck and leans in until their lips touch. _Go slow,_ she tells herself. Then forgets all of that when Steve’s hands find her waist and pull her up against him. Soft, sweet kisses turn desperate and hungry with her red lipstick so pretty smeared against his mouth. Her hands slide beneath his leather jacket and push it off his shoulders. She can already feel the heat radiating off his body and needs to feel his skin against hers. He groans at the wicked twinkle in her eye as she leads him to bed by one of his suspenders, giving him a teasing flash of the black garter belt she’s glad she decided to wear.

“Uh, you sure about this?” Steve asks, still trying to catch his breath. He looks wrecked already and she has just barely gotten started with him.

“Yes.” Natasha taps the screen of her device twice. “There. I consent to everything. _Everything_.”

Steve breathes out heavily, grabs for his own device and presses the same buttons. “That’s not what I meant. You’re just…you’re beautiful and you can have anyone. _Anyone_.”

“Been there, done that.” She doesn’t give either of them the time to dwell on that, kissing him on the lips, almost as soft as the first yet. Her restrain when all she wants to do is devour him deserves an award. “Is it so crazy that I want you?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, but winds his frail arms around her waist. “Absolutely.”

“Lucky for the two of us, you like a little crazy.” She flashes him a grin before pressing a kiss to his jaw and then his neck, feeling the vibration of his laughter, which she can only assume confirms her suspicions. Her hands start undoing the buttons of his shirt, kissing every bit of skin as it’s revealed to her. There’s a chain hanging around his neck, the kind used to hold dog tags, but there are no metal plates, just the chain. “Let go, Steve. Let me take care of you…”

She doesn’t think she’s ever said that to another living person before, but if it’s Steve, she can get used to it. She doesn’t let herself dwell on that either, too taken by Steve surrendering to the moment, surrendering to her. It really is a shame he can call her beautiful so easily and not think the same about himself. Steve is so achingly beautiful. By the end of the night, he’ll know it. She’s ready to do everything in her power to show him just how beautiful she thinks he is.

 

…

 

“What do you mean random?”

Natasha opens her eyes and looks up at him, her head resting in his lap as they lounge out on the green grass that doesn’t even feel real. His fingers tangled in her hair and the sun just above them. She tells him he looks like an angel with the sun for a halo and he knows she says it just to get him to duck his head and grin. He does. Steve has come to learn that Natasha has a way of always getting what she wants.

They’ve been a match for two months now. Two months of waking up to Natasha and her curly bedhead, cooking together and taking walks to the local pond where they either skip rocks or sometimes toss a frisbee back and forth. Natasha has a deceptively strong arm and she moves quick. They surprise themselves with their accuracy and how they seem to predict each other’s moves almost as easily and automatic as breathing. Two months have gone by and his kisses are no longer tentative, but confident. They work in a lot of practice in two months. And every time Steve looks at her, he feels steady and grounded. He trusts her. He doesn’t feel like any more time will change that.

“Don’t change the subject,” he scolds her lightly.

“I mean, what if the whole System is all just random and we just go along with it?”

“Yeah, but the success rate—”

“99.8%, sure. Whatever.” She moans quietly when he starts to massage her scalp. “ _But_ how do we know there really is a forever future with whoever the System says is our perfect match? Maybe it’s random and by shuffling us from relationship to relationship, it’s just wearing us down. After every passing expiration date we become a little more tired, a little more broken. Then it spits out yet another random profile, slaps on the label ‘perfect match’ and we’re just so exhausted we accept it. Then we spend the rest of our lives asking: is this real or do we only think it’s real because we’re told it is?”

Steve gives that some deep thought before reaching down to tickle her sides. Natasha slaps his hands away and slugs him in the arm.

“Okay, let’s think about this a second,” Steve counters. “That System is some sophisticated artificial intelligence, right? And if the success rate is real, not just a nice number they toss out there as bait, it builds our profiles little by little and pairs us thoughtfully. Does that mean it thinks? Does it feel?”

“Wait.” Natasha grabs his wrist suddenly, eyes wide. “What if we’re stuck in a simulation?”

They stare at each other in tense silence before both bursting out in laughter. Natasha sits up and shoves Steve down to the grass so she can lay her head on his chest. He rounds his arm around her and presses a kiss to her forehead. She closes her eyes and Steve watches the way her long, dark lashes flutter. Seeing her relaxed and so at peace is his absolute favorite. It tugs at his heart in a way he can’t explain. Suddenly, both of their System devices start to beep simultaneously.

Natasha groans into his chest. “I knew we should have left those things at home.”

 _Home_.

He feels a flutter in his chest as that word rolls off her lips so easily.

Natasha reaches into the front pocket of his jeans for his device. They both jolt up at the sight of the display screen. The countdown has begun. They only have minutes left.

“This is bullshit.” Natasha slams the device into the grass. “I’m done with all of this. Fuck it. Fuck the System.” She meets his eyes and there’s a wild desperation, wild defiance. It’s breathtaking. She is breathtaking. “I want _you_ , Steve.”

“I want you.” Steve has never been more certain of anything in his life. His hand finds hers like it always seems to, bringing there entwined fingers to his heart that’s thumping louder and louder in his chest.

“Steve.” Her eyes widen and she never looks away from his. “Do you remember who you were before you came here?”

His first thought is to say _of course_ , but when he thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it… “No.”

“Me neither.” Natasha squeezes his hand tight. “Remember the first night? How did it feel?”

The beeping from the device grows louder and louder…

“I felt…nervous,” he confesses. “But…safe. Like the moment you walked in the door and sat across from me, it felt like everything just…locked into place… It felt like we met before.”

“Like we keep meeting for the first time over and over and over again,” Natasha whispers. Her voice barely heard beneath the sound of the beeping. “Like it’ll happen again. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, but what does that mean?” he asks.

“Who cares? Steve, let’s just go. Leave. The two of us. Right now.”

“And go where, Natasha? Those security goons are everywhere. There’s nowhere to go.”

“Does it matter as long as we’re together?” she asks.

“No,” Steve answers. “Not if we’re together.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Natasha takes her device that’s counting down the seconds they have together and she chucks it into the pond. Steve weighs his own in his hand, realizing he hasn’t gone anywhere without it since coming to this place. He throws it like he’s pitching in the World Series and doesn’t even stick around to watch it sink.

There’s a metro station about a block from the park. They only know it exists because of the sign out front. They’ve never even seen or heard a train leave or arrive. All they really have as transportation are those damn self-driving carts that are probably controlled by the System thus no help. The metro station is their best bet.

“If they make us, I’ll engage. You hit the south escalator.” Steve furrows his brow at his own words, hit with a massive sense of deja vu. Whatever. It’s less important than the goon in all black they’re right about to cross paths with.

“Shut up and put your arm around me,” Natasha says instead. “Laugh at something I said.”

Before he can dwell on that assertive tone of hers and how much he likes it, his arm goes right around her shoulder as instructed and she turns into his chest. They both force a laugh and it doesn’t escape him how much more natural hers sounds. The goon walks right by them, doesn’t even give them a second glance. Steve looks over his shoulder, baffled.

“How did you know that would work?” Steve asks.

Natasha just shakes her head and her face is all serious and different than he’s ever seen her before. Instead of answering, she meets his eyes and slips her fingers through his. He prays she knows he has more faith in her than anything around them. Together, they run. Run through the empty metro station and down the frozen escalator. With every step they take, lights around them start to shut off.

“Nat, what’s happening?” Steve shouts as they’re plunged into darkness. He only knows she’s still there because of their tangled fingers and the sound of her breathing. “Nat?”

“Steve,” she says his name on a raspy exhale. “I love you.”

He doesn’t hesitate and doesn’t even stutter. “I love you too.”

Steve blinks and winces. Suddenly, the darkness is gone and the transition to the gross florescent lighting in the lab is too much.

Wait.

Lab?

“Wakey, wakey, Cap and bakey,” Tony says without looking up from what he’s working on across the room. Across the lab. Tony’s lab. Avengers Tower. “Don’t worry, you weren’t out nearly as long as the last time, though I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson here. When you and Miss Rushman need somewhere to argue about who’s been avoiding who, my lab, when my virtual reality experimental dating app is in it’s infant days of development and decided to go kaboom—by no fault of my own, by the way—probably not the best place to do it.”

Missing approximately 99.8% of that, Steve only manages to blink even more. “Tony?”

Tony kicks off and sails toward him in the rolling chair he looks mighty comfortable in. “Brain function appears normal albeit a tad slow. You’ll return to your superhuman self once you get your sea legs. Bruce is the one with the better bedside manner, just _barely_ , but he’s currently checking in on—”

“Nat!” Steve springs up in bed, tugging on the wires connected to him and sending machines crashing to the floor. “Where is she, Tony?”

“Just down the—”

Steve leaps out of bed and out the door, paying no mind to the people who stop to stare at him or the fact that all he’s wearing is a hospital gown, feeling wisps of air against his naked ass. Some show he must be putting on for whoever has clearance. He passes by Maria Hill and she might have muttered something along the lines of, “Good morning, America,” but Steve is in too much of a panicked rush to be sure.

The last time he woke up, when he came out of the ice, he was running through a facility, around Time Square out of flight or fight response. This time, he has something, someone to run to.

He sees her through the glass wall before she sees him. Natasha’s awake and her hair is shorter than in that dream. Experimental dating app? Bruce is at her bedside, checking her vitals with care. Then it all comes crashing down on him. Going their separate ways after taking down S.H.E.I.L.D. Searching for Bucky with Sam. Returning to Avengers Tower to find Bruce and Natasha inseparable, working on the Hulk lullaby. How she barely spoke to him since. He might not be a spy, but he can read body language well enough and kept his distance in return. That’s reality. None of that System and perfect match bullshit. None of that was real. An unobtainable dream.

Steve turns to maybe go back to Tony’s lab to get properly discharged or find some pants in the very least when he hears a, “Steve?” from behind him.

He should probably be terribly embarrassed, both for his state of indecency, but also, all that hope he built up in his head. Steve doesn’t know how to fix the latter, but turning around to face her might be a quick fix for the former. When he sees Natasha standing there, wearing black leggings under her own hospital gown because she’s Natasha, practical like that, and her first instinct isn’t to go running through the halls like a lunatic.

“Sorry,” he says. Unsure why, but it just feels like he should be.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” She tilts her head and smiles, a smile that brings him right back to the System, sitting together by the pond, content to just exist together. It hurts so much he as to look away.

“Close call,” Steve mutters. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I should—pants.” The words come out in a rush and he turns around, aware that she can see his ass again, but there’s no way of getting out of this situation without embarrassing himself. Partial nudity is an easier path to travel than trying to apologize for falling in love with her in some made up world in his head, though if he’s honest with himself, he fell in love with her much, much earlier.

Steve doesn’t get far before he feels her hand grab at his and the cool press of her palm against his clammy one. It feels so familiar even though they’ve never held hands in real life. He turns his head, but can’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze until she tilts his chin. He’s tentative, but less so when he sees the certainty in those green eyes he loves, a unique kind of confidence that he had only ever seen…

“Jarvis,” Natasha call out, not breaking eye contact once. “What’s the expiration date?”

Before the AI can reply, an “Insufficient data. I am unable to compute your request, Agent Romanoff,” Natasha rises up onto bare tiptoes and yanks Steve down toward her for a kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS:
> 
> Whenever he isn’t Avenging or working on more serious projects, Tony tweaks the System. Mostly to amuse himself, he replaces him and Pepper with Steve and Natasha at the Pairing Day portion of the simulation. When real-life Romanogers are openly disgustingly cute and having sex in public places within the Tower (R.I.P. kitchen counter and R.I.P. Intern Darcy’s innocent eyeballs), Tony messes with their System selves, making dear Natalie blonde and giving Steve a lumberjack beard.
> 
> It almost impresses him that, one, they made it out alive and two, they’re still together. There’s no telling if the 99.8% success rate of them finding each other in every possible scenario and choosing each other every single time will hold in the real world, but it’s a nice thought. And if thinking that makes Tony Stark a closet romantic then so be it. He also takes quiet responsibility for them getting together and it means the System is a total success. Not that it will ever even make it to a legit beta testing stage. Or will it?


	13. Gamers AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamers AU. Steve has been playing Avengers Initiative online with Black_Widovv for years and impulsively decides it's time to meet. He tries to temper his expectations and hopes she does the same. People in real life are never as hot as the character they create for themselves, right?

Growing up, all Steve ever wanted to do was run around in the streets, play stickball with Sam, Bucky and all the other neighborhood kids. Having a list of illnesses as long as his arm kept him indoors more often than not and Steve kept himself busy by drawing and playing video games. Needless to say, he got pretty good at it and it stuck with him through the years. 

“I’m down! I’m down! I’m down!” A nineteen-year-old Steve shouts into his headset, gripping the controller in his hands, trying to maneuver his character—the unrealistically muscular, blonde-haired soldier low on health and taking shelter in a ransacked, half-destroyed building. “Anyone?” 

“Just north of you, Cap,” Bucky replies through the headset. 

“Circling above to the south.” Sam too. “Gimme a sec…” 

A flash out of the corner of the screen has Steve flinging his shield just to feel dumb when he sees it’s one of his allies. _Black_Widovv_ hangs over her character, a blonde woman in an all-black catsuit that molds to her body in a way that suggests a dude is responsible for the character design. She tosses him a canister and in seconds, Steve is back to full health. 

“Thanks, Widow,” Steve says, sending his character, capt.america to fetch his shield. 

(Bucky created the character for him while Steve was on the phone with his mom, assuring her that he did all his course work before rewarding himself with a weekend of uninterrupted gaming.)

Widovv isn’t actually on comms with the boys so he sends her a thumbs up onscreen and she sends one right back. 

“Stevie’s girlfriend to the rescue,” Bucky teases. 

“ _Again_.” Sam makes super sloppy, wet-sounding kissing sounds.

So yeah, maybe it’s a good thing she can’t actually hear them. 

“Let’s regroup here,” Steve says. While they’re waiting for the rest of the group, Black_Widovv busts out a dance move and Steve responds with his own. She throws popcorn at him and Steve wants to laugh, but tries not to make a sound, doesn’t want to tipoff the guys. 

He “met” Black_Widovv just after they started playing Avengers Initiative, a co-op sandbox survival game. Players form teams, go on various missions to collect resources, build fortifications to help fight off the ever approaching storm, protect survivors, and fight off waves of vicious creatures. One night their senior year when Bucky and Sam were both out on dates, Steve decided to play, letting the game randomly pair him up with a partner—Black_Widovv. They played for hours. After the longest, most successful op he’s ever had, she sent him a friend request and she’s been apart of the team ever since. 

“Dude, do you really think she’s as hot as her character in real life?” Sam asks.

Steve rolls his eyes, glancing at his own skinny arms. “No one’s as hot as their character in real life.”

“Speak for yourself, punk,” Bucky says. 

Sam’s heavily armored Falcon117 drops in, retracting his wings, just after Bucky’s long-haired metal-armed whitewoof41 waltzes into the building. 

“The talking raccoon tried to steal my arm again!” Bucky gripes. 

They all heal up, share ammunition and the game continues. 

“Oh shit, you’re screwed!” Sam shouts, spectating. He’s out of the game and so is Bucky. “Y’all are done.”

“Thanks for the support, Sam!” Steve jerks the joystick, doing his best to keep up with Black_Widovv as they run from the accelerated storm, but her character is smaller and faster than his. 

“This is the moment, Stevie. It’s the moment in the action movie where the hero knows he’s gonna die—”

“Shut up, Bucky!” Steve grits his teeth, leaning forward in his chair. 

“Aren’t you gonna say your final goodbyes to your girl?” Sam continues for him. Bucky laughs outright in his ear. “This is the part where the action man with the plan feeds his girl the one-liner and kisses the crap out of her!” 

“You both need to—”

A genetically engineered humanoid creature leaps out of nowhere and takes out capt.america. Game over for him. It’s just Black_Widovv on her own now. Not that they would openly admit it, but a lot of their squad missions end this way. 

“Well, I’m out,” Sam says. “I am going to sleep.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Bucky says. “Except the sleeping part. Well. I’m going to see if Darce wants to ‘go over the study guide’ again.” 

“Guys!” Steve scolds them, motioning to the screen of his old PC even though neither of them can see. “Widovv’s still playing!” 

“I already exited the game, dude,” Sam says. “Falcon out.” 

“I’ve got a real girl to kiss the crap outta,” Bucky says. “Don’t stay up too late pining, Stevie.” 

When they both go offline, Steve tugs off his headset and tosses it aside. He sits back in his chair, more relaxed now that he isn’t actually playing, but still squinting at the screen, trying to watch her back even though he can’t do anything about it. It takes another ten minutes, but Widovv ends up the final player standing out of a hundred, adding another win to their squad record. It’s impressive. _She_ is impressive. 

Steve opens up a chat window and tells her just that. 

Her response is immediate. Y _ou flatter me, Cap._

He almost blushes, but scolds himself. She probably doesn’t look anything like her character just like how he doesn’t have the muscles and ample, well-groomed facial hair that his own does. They started talking about things other than the game after a month of playing together. From what she’s shared, she’s eighteen, but they graduated high school the same year. Her birthday’s just late. 

_How did you get so good at these things again?_ Steve asks. 

_My brother considers himself the best. I like to prove him wrong_

Steve shakes his head. _And you agree to play with us? We suck_

_You aren’t bad! It’s fun._

She’s smart and funny and easy to talk to…or at least type to. Lounging in bed, it’s not the first time he’s wondered what it would be like to meet in real life. He types out the question and just stares. What if she equates him with his character in the game too? Then she’d be seriously disappointed. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be friends. She helped him fight their way out of a destroyed bunker against a horde of evil robots once. Maybe she could find him a date. He laughs. Lame. 

Before he can let himself think anymore about it, Steve hits send. His fingers fly across the keyboard, quick to add: _sorry if that’s weird or if you don’t wanna we can just pretend this never happened_. Send. _And if you want to just go back to only talking in the game or block me that’s fair too._

He swears he spends an eternity waiting for her to reply. Then she finally does: 

_Do you know Metro College?_

Steve grows pale and his hands start to sweat. Shakily, he replies: _I got to MC_

It takes her even longer to reply. 

_Meet in front of the Kozy Kampus at 11?_

And he might actually be shaking. 

_I’ll be wearing a black ribbon in my hair_

_I’ll_ — Steve types, then looks around his room. — _Wear a star sticker on my shirt pocket_.

_How on brand_ , _Captain America_ , she types back. 

Steve sinks into his bed, relaxing a little more. _So it’s a deal?_

_See you tomorrow._

_Goodnight_. 

Steve stares up at the ceiling, his heart beating hard. What did he just get himself into? 

He can’t exactly do anything about his noodle arms or his bony chest, but he can at least try to flatten the hair that sticks up at the back of his head and wear clean clothes. Steve smoothes the star sticker over the thin material of his t-shirt about a million times on the walk across campus. There are people milling all around and a group chatting near the bike rack by the door, but no black ribbon. 

He tries not to second guess as he waits. What if she sees him from afar, realizes he isn’t what she expected and bails? How are they supposed to go on, playing Avengers Initiative with the knowledge that he was so disappointing, she didn’t bother to show? He might have to delete his account and quit the game entire. 

“Cap?” 

Steve turns around and… and she’s beautiful. She is _beautiful_ , the wind ruffling the silk black ribbon holding up her locks of red hair, large, searching eyes, and a little beauty mark that keeps drawing his attention over and over. She’s beautiful and she’s _Natasha Romanoff_. They went to high school together! She was captain of the dance team, not to mention one of the most popular girls there. 

“Hi,” she says. “Steve…Rogers? You’re Captain America?” 

The note of disbelief in her voice strikes a nerve and he steels his expression. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but… _Natasha Romanoff_? She turned down Bucky once!

(Technically, she already agreed to go to prom with Banner before Bucky asked, but that didn’t stop Bucky’s ego from bruising just a little and Sam teasing him a lot.) 

“Surprised?” he asks coldly.

She purses her lips as if to keep from answering too rashly. “Pleasantly surprised.” 

Steve blinks, but it doesn’t mask his own surprise. “Really?”

“Could’ve been worse. You could’ve been Stark or Rumlow.” The face she makes, as if she just smelled something terrible, is too cute to be real. 

“Tony got an advanced copy of the game senior, tweeted out his gamertag and challenged literally everyone and anyone to take on Iron Man. Rumlow went by Crossbones, I think. Neither of them can even touch your record. If they knew—”

“I like to keep a low profile.” 

Steve nods. “Your alter ego is safe with me.”

She meets his eyes with curiosity in hers. “Are _you_ surprised?” 

“Pleasantly.” 

Natasha makes this sound that’s kind of a laugh, maybe a stilted one, like she finds him cute, but doesn’t want to lay down all her cards so soon. She certainly games that way. Not that he wants to assume anything. 

“Let me guess,” Natasha muses. “Bird Guy is your pal, Sam Wilson, and the Tin Man is Barnes. You three were inseparable in high school. It all makes sense now. I’m kind of upset I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“I would never have guessed you were…”

“Good with my hands?” She flashes him a smile that quickly fades. “Or maybe you could…” 

She had a reputation in high school. Not that Steve ever cared what people said. 

“Now that you know,” Steve says, sidestepping. “Picture Bucky and Sam’s reactions the time we were holed up in that little shack in the west quadrant and Thanos came out of nowhere, destroyed all of us and the house! I had my headset on, everyone yelled at the same time and I’m pretty sure I damaged an eardrum.” 

“Thanos is a dick.” 

“He is,” Steve agrees. “Except that time you killed and became Thanos.” 

“And you were still on my side.” 

Her pretty lips curve up in a pretty smile. He feels like an _idiot_ for thinking she might not be as drop-dead gorgeous as her character. If anything, she’s even more so. More real. 

“So can I ask you a question?” 

“No, I don’t play with cheat codes,” she replies. 

“I know that.” He huffs indignantly and the corner of her mouth twitch in an almost smile again. “Why the blonde, not the red?” 

He almost reaches out to touch her hair, a lock falling gracefully against her cheek, maybe tuck it behind her ear, but stops himself just in time. 

“Because it’s not me and when I’m online, I kind of like that. I’m guessing it’s the same with you and the beard.” She pokes him right over the star sticker on his shirt. 

“I could grow a beard if I wanted to.” Steve strokes his chin. 

“Sure, Cap.” 

Steve laughs, glancing down at his shoes. When his eyes sweep back up, blue meets green and they’re suddenly talking at the same time—

“Do you want to grab lunch together?” Steve asks at the same time as Natasha asks, “Do you want to go to Game Stop?” 

“Yes,” they say in unison. And smile. 

She hooks her arm around his as if it’s something she’s done dozens of times now and leads him into the cafe behind them. He didn’t plan for Bucky and Sam to already be inside, but their reaction to seeing him walk in with Natasha Romanoff is even better than their reaction to death by Thanos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Smutty-ish) BONUS: 
> 
> Steve kind of loves how focused and intense Natasha gets while gaming. Her eyes trained on the flatscreen in their new apartment together. Her adopted father and brother are helping them move in and fix the place up. They could be back from the hardware store any second, but when Natasha suggests a quickie, he can’t refuse. 
> 
> A quick round of Natasha playing Avengers Initiative solo and Steve between her legs. The only indication that she’s affected at all is the way her hand twitches on the joystick whenever his thumb presses against her clit just right or the way her thighs tighten around his shoulders whenever his tongue slides in deeper than she’s expecting.
> 
> “Fuck,” she whines, coming to the sound of her character dying in a blaze of fire and glory behind him. She lets her controller that’s black and lights up red all fancy fall away in favor of digging her fingers into Steve’s shirt, yanking him up to meet her, lips parting, Natasha moaning. 
> 
> Steve breaks the kiss, panting, looking over his shoulder at the TV. “You got ten kills? How? I count myself lucky if I get one when you…you’re…” 
> 
> She raises an eyebrow, daring him to finish his statement. As if he isn’t red from the tips of his ears to his chest already…
> 
> “Being distracting? I’ve noticed. You have to learn to multi-task, boyfriend.” Natasha digs the ball of her foot into his lower back insistently, hands back on her controller, eyes on the TV. “C’mon, you know the drill, Rogers.”
> 
> “Yeah, yeah, number of kills equals number of orgasms.” 
> 
> “Get to work, soldier.” 
> 
> “Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
